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A MAN O’ WAX. 


BY 

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LAURA M. DAKE, 

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AUTHOR OF “IN THE CRUCIBLE,” “THE SHADOW’S FLIGHT,” ETC. 



SAN FRANCISCO: 

THE WHITAKER AND RAY COMPANY. 

(INCORPORATED.) 

1902. 


THE LIBRARY OF 
CONGRESS, 
Two CofHES Recsived 

OCT. 20 ’f 902 

COPVPIOHT ENTRY 

CLASS OL XXa No. 

^ C ^ 

oopy B. 




COPYEIGHT, 1902, 
By Laura M. Bake. 


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DEDICATED 


TO 


MARSHALL P. WRIGHT. 







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I 


V 



A MAN O’ WAX 


CHAPTER I. 

“A man, young lady! Lady, such a man 
As all the world! Why, he ’s a man o’ wax. 

Nay, he ’s a flower, in faith, a very flower.” 

Shakespeare. 

It is the year of grace 1845. Philip Bee, a young 
attorney, sits in his office, his chair tilted back, his feet 
on a table, and a half-smoked cigar between his lips. 

His eyes, however, are not on his book, for he is idly 
watching the crowd in front of the store across the street, 
who are waiting the arrival of the tri-weekly mail, mean- 
time gravely discussing the recent defeat of Henry Clay, 
or listening with eager attention to Uncle Jack Lupton’s 
predictions regarding the weather, based upon the breast 
of a goose, sacrificed annually in the interest of science. 
Every face in the assemblage is familiar to Philip, for he 
had been born in Waxhaw. During his boyhood days ^ 
he had thought the Osage was the loveliest river, and 
Missouri the most desirable spot, in all the world. 

But, four years at an Eastern college, followed by a ^ 
tour of Europe, has changed his views, and now, as he 
watches his fellow-citizens, an expression of disdain 
crosses his handsome face, and he wonders if it will be 
possible for him to settle down to the narrow life of this 
obscure village, even though such is the wish nearest the 
hearts of his parents. 

“How tiresome it all is!” he thinks. “The same old 
crowd, with the same threadbare jokes.” 

“There is old Uncle Zimri holding Colonel Mead’s 
horse, and the Colonel himself, in the same old-time coat 

5 


6 


A MAN o’ WAX. 


and silk hat, pompous and proud; there are the butcher, 
the baker, and the jolly shoemaker; there is old Billy 
Wigs, the town drunkard, and his Scotch terrier. Trip; 
and there is Ben Canada, ‘the best man on earth,’ and 
landlord of the Canada House, ‘the best tavern,’ — so 
every one says, at any rate. Yes, there they all are, and 
will be, until, one by one, they follow each other to the 
boneyard, and even after their bodies are under the sod, 
their ghosts will come back three times a week and wait 
for the stage. Has fate written my name on the same 
list?” 

As Philip sits moodily revolving these and similar 
thoughts, the notes of a horn, loud and clear, are heard, 
and, shortly after, up dashes the expected coach, its 
jaunty driver, the four grays, and the mail-bags equally 
dividing the attention of the expectant crowd. 

Presently, Philip’s father enters the office, and with 
him comes Fate, in the shape of a letter. As Philip reads 
it, a new light springs into his eyes. It is from his col- 
lege chum, Charley Wild, who has joined Fremont’s 
expedition. “Hurrah for the new Eldorado!” he writes. 
“In a week we shall be on our way; will you not come, 
too, Phil? Surely, surely, you must be weary hibernat- 
ing in winter and vegetating in summer. You might as 
well be a grizzly, or a head of cabbage,” etc. 

The letter is replete with contagious enthusiasm, such 
as youth indulges when life, so full of bright possibilities, 
lies all untried before it. 

Judge Bee notices the change in his son’s face, and 
asks, “What is it, Phil? Have you good news?” 

“ Glorious, glorious news,” he cries, waving the letter 
above his head. “Just read this letter from Charley 
Wild. He is off with Fremont for California, and wants 
me to join him. Of course I shall — I must go; I just 
can’t settle down in V/axhaw until I — ” he was going to 


A MAN o' WAX. 


7 


say, “have had another fling with the world,” but, 
catching his father's troubled eyes, says, instead, “have 
seen something of the western half of our big country. 
That will round up my education, as it were, and I shall 
be able to better represent my constituents when I go to ^ 
Congress.” 

Philip knew his father's weak point, and the last sen- 
tence produced the effect intended. 

“True, my son, very true,” replied the Judge. “A 
Western man should know the needs of the West, and I 
must not let my personal feelings stand in your light. 

But it will be a sad blow to your mother to part with 
you so soon, Philip; we had hoped — ” 

The Judge's voice was growing pathetic; so Philip 
interrupted him cheerily, “Why, father dear, I shall be 
away only two years. Before you fairly realize it, here 
comes your prodigal son home again, to eat the fatted 
calf and settle down in earnest.” 

“But what will Agnes say to it, my son?” 

“Agnes? Oh, Agnes will agree with me in this as she 
does in everything. I shall soon make it all right with 
Agnes. And now I must hurry up and be off by the 
morning coach, if I catch Charley as he proposes.” 

Philip is heartily glad of his hurried preparations, 
since he considers protracted leave-taking a bore, and is 
so highly elated at the prospect of his journey, that he 
gives no serious thought to those who will grieve for his 
absence. Chief among these is Agnes Carew, who has ^ 
been his sweetheart since early childhood. 

“The course of true love” had run very smoothly in 
their case, at least, with not a ripple to mar its har- 
mony. 

True enough, though, while Philip was a student 
“away down East,” he had enjoyed many a flirtation 
with many a pretty summer girl, and when those days 


8 


A MAN o’ WAX. 


were ended, and he was packing, to leave them behind 
him and begin life again in old Missouri, his heart had 
been brimful of tender regrets as he watched the flames 
consume the bundles of sweet “missives” (tied with blue 
ribbons, in true-lovers’ knots) in which more than one 
warm-hearted damsel had “told her love.” But Agnes 
was blissfully ignorant of all this, and Philip thought 
that Shakespeare’s remark about “the cup in which a 
spider has been steeped” was full of wisdom. 

Still, he is very fond of Agnes, and tells himself, over 
and over, that she is the sweetest girl in all the world; 
and now, as he is on his way to bid her good by, for the 
moment he feels a tender regret at leaving her. 

The big May moon is swinging up from behind the 
black hills as he reaches the gate. On each side of the 
long walk leading up to the spacious house is a lilac 
hedge, now in full bloom, and filling the night air with 
fragrance. As he pauses to pluck a spray, he sings very 
softly, — 

“ 0, were my luv lilac fair, 

Wi’ purple blossoms in the spring, 

And I a bird to shelter there. 

When weary on my little wing. 

How I Avad mourn, gin I were torn. 

By autumn wild and winter rude. 

But I wad sing on wanton Aving, 

When youthful May my bloom renewed. 

“O, gin my luv were yon red rose” — 

“No, no, Philip; red roses bring thoughts of death,” 
says Agnes, catching the last words as she comes to meet 
him; and slipping her slender hand into his broad palm, 
she lifts her eyes to his as she speaks. Even in the 
moonlight she can discern the change the coming journey 
has made in his face. The bored expression, so habitual 
to it, is gone, and a new light shines in his eyes. 


A MAN o' WAX. 


9 


‘‘What is it, Phil? What has happened?” she asks. 

“Nothing has happened as yet, Agnes,” he replies; 
“but who can tell what the morrow may bring? Come 
and sit beside me, here, on this bench, and listen to some 
good news that I have to tell you.” 

Philip has the gift of a silver tongue, and Agnes scarcely 
knows whether to weep or to smile as he unfolds his 
plans to her. He had seen the Old World, with its effete 
aristocracies, its back-bending sycophants, its servile 
conventionalities, and had learned its lessons well. Now 
he longs to come face to face with the free, adventurous 
life as it is in the Far West, and thus round out an^ 
otherwise incomplete education. 

To read of this is not enough; he must see it as it 
actually exists, become a part of it through personal ex- 
prience; and, having done so, he will be ready to settle 
down in earnest. Then, if his own ambition and the 
ambition his friends have cherished for him is fulfilled, 
and he is called upon to sit in the high places, he will be 
able to girdle the earth in thought, and meet intelligently 
any emergency that may arise. 

• Also, — hut only as a secondary consideration, — are the 
alluring possibilities of wealth. Those Western moun- 
tains are believed to be seamed with gold, and the river 
beds to be studded with precious jewels, that simply 
await a discoverer. Only two short years, and he will 
return, then, like the prince and princess in fairyland, 
“they will be married, and live happily ever after.” 

A confused vision of vast plains, snowy mountains, 
wild beasts, and painted savages, with Philip as a central 
figure, flits through Agnes’s brain, while, like a sad strain 
that ever and anon reveals itself amid the clatter and 
clash and jingle of an opera, runs the thought that he 
no longer will be a part of her daily life. 

“Oh, Phil,” she says, as soon as she can find words; 


10 


A MAN o’ WAX. 


“two years is a long time! What may not happen in 
two years?” Her soft voice trembles, but she bravely 
keeps back her tears. If it is best for Philip, she will not 
annoy him by weeping. There will be time enough for 
that when he is far away. 

Utterly self-absorbed, he little understands the grief of 
this young, unselfish soul, whose every hope is bound up 
in him. Thinking and talking only of himself, he is sur- 
prised to hear the clock in the hall strike the hour of 
ten, — a signal for his departure, since there is still much 
to be done in the way of preparations for his journey, 
and his parents are sadl}^’ awaiting him. 

Agnes summons all her courage and appears very 
brave, although her fond heart is heavy as lead. Philip 
has never understood her quiet, undemonstrative nature, 
and has always attributed her submission to the will of 
others as a lack of will-power on her own part. He often 
told himself that this was her greatest charm, and was 
as it should be, and as God had intended woman to be. 

And Agnes, knowing that, above all things, her lover 
dreaded heroics, either on or off the stage, holds her feel- 
ings well in hand, and gives him no reason to complain. 
“How sorry father will be to lose you, Phil,” she says 
gently, as they rise. “ Come in a minute, and say good 
by to him.” 

As they walk arm in arm towards the house, Agnes 
detaches from a chain she wears around her neck, a small 
golden anchor, on which her name is engraved. She 
timidly slips it into his hand, saying, “Wear this as a 
charm on your watch-chain, Phil, and when you see it, 
think of me.” 

“Think of you, Agnes darling! I shall not need 
charms to remind me that the sweetest girl in all the 
world is waiting for me here in old Missouri. But I shall 
wear the charm, and when I come back I will bring gold 


A MAN o’ WAX. 


11 


enough to make a dozen such, besides diamonds and 
rubies to set them with.” 

“ When you come back,” repeated Doctor Carew, as the 
two enter the cool, cheerful library. “Whither bound 
now, Philip?” 

Then the news of the sudden journey is retold, the last 
farewells are said, and Philip is gone. 

At early dawn, as Agnes lies in her pretty bed, she 
hears the melodious notes of the horn, which tell her that 
the stage-coach, bearing her lover away, is already upon 
the highway. She springs to the window just in time to 
catch a glimpse of it as it sweeps around a wooded hill 
and is lost to sight. Then she fully realizes that Philip 
is gone, and stands staring at the distant highway, as one 
dazed, yet vaguely wondering how she shall fill the weary 
hours that must pass until his return, if indeed he should 
escape the dangers of such a journey and ever come back 
to her. 


12 


A MAN o’ WAX. 


CHAPTER 11. 

“Now ware you, sirs, and let this man have room.” 

Shakespeare. 

Leaving unchronicled the “hair-breath ’scapes” that 
befell our two young Missourians on their journey across 
the Western wilds, we find them, a year later, in the 
heart of a Californian forest. Once more it is May, and, 
surrounded by their jovial companions, they are lounging 
around a glowing camp-fire. The ruddy glare from the 
blazing pine logs falls full upon the carcass of a huge 
grizzly suspended from the limb of a tree, near which 
stands a youthful pioneer recounting the adventure that 
led to its death. 

“ Shure and I thought me last moment had come,” he 
was saying, “ whin the big baste coom tearin’ afther me. 
I had joost sint me last shot into a flock o’ geese, wid no 
time left to load, so I drophed me gun and wint for the 
nearest three, and not a minute too airly, ayther, for 
Misther Bruin was close at me heels. D’ ye mind thim 
throusers, novv^?” he asked, pointing to the leg of one 
that was minus a strip from knee to ankle. 

“’T was wan of thim claws done that, shure, but I oop 
wid me other fut, and dealt him such a gintle tap on the 
snoot, that he dhrapped down and made a remark in bear 
langwidge that I dassent repate in the prisence of the 
Colonel” (indicating Fremont). 

“ But he had no notion of parting coompany wid me, 
bad cess to him! He took his seat right oonder the three, 
kaping wan eye on me stiddy, and growling ivery time I 
sthirred hand or fut. 

“ It was a trying situation, me b’ys, I till ye that, now, 
for I was a mile from camp, and the sun was about due 
down in Chiny, and if howly Saint Pathrick had n’t heard 


A MAN o’ WAX. 


13 


me prayer, it would all have been oop now wid Barney 
O’Brien. Belave me or not, but no sooner had I prom- 
ised the blissed saint twenty goold dollars than I heered 
the swate voice of Misther Philip come floating along on 
the air. Ah, but he sings like a mocking-burd, shure! 
Nearer and nearer it came, and thin, all of a suddint, I 
saw himself walk into the clearin’, niver drainin’ that 
Saint Pathrick had brought him, nor that Barney O’Brien 
was threed by a bear. 

“‘Ware the baste, Misther Philip!’ I yelled; ‘Ware 
the baste!’ But he niver heered me, for he was making 
the air fairly ring wid ‘ Rory O’Moore,’ but I kipt oop 
me yelling, ‘Ware the baste, Misther Bee; ware the 
baste!’ 

“‘Hello!’ he says, sthoppin’ short; ‘shure and I hear 
the voice of me frind Barney?’ 

“‘Shure and ye do, Misther Bee,’ I yelled; ‘he is oop 
this three, wid a grizzly watchin’ him. Ware the baste, 
for its coomin’ for ye!’ 

“Thin Misther Bee spied the big spalpeen, and, instead 
of taking to a three, he joost sthood still and laughed, 
while he got his gun ready*. 

“Oh, howly Saint Pathrick, another twinty if ye’ll save 
him,” I cried, and clapped me hand over me mouth to 
ketch me heart, for it was thrying to joomp out at sight 
of the very divil himself, oop on his haunches, making 
for—” 

“Hark!” 

It was Kit Carson who spoke. He had been lying full 
length on the ground, and now half raised himself, his 
small, sinewy hand lifted to bespeak attention. 

Instantly all were alert, but to untrained ears the 
silence was broken only by the weird voices of the night, 
— the distant howl of the wolf, the uncanny calls of night 
birds, the murmuring of the swollen stream rushing past 


14 


A MAN o’ WAX. 


in the darkness, and the mournful sighing of the wind 
as it stirred the interlaced branches of the giant red- 
woods that shut out the starry sky above them. 

“What is it, Carson?” asks some one softly. 

“The hoof-beats of a horse,” is the reply. 

A few moments later, the sounds became audible to all, 
and springing to their feet, they waited eagerly to know 
the cause. 

Suddenly, a horse and rider became detached from the 
dark wall that enveloped them. The jaded animal stag- 
gered forward, and ere friendly hands could prevent, the 
exhausted rider had slipped from its back and lay un- 
conscious on the ground. 

“Why, it is Sam Neal!” exclaimed Carson, in surprise, 
as the flames from a fresh supply of pine-knots flared up 
brightly and revealed the face from which a kindly hand 
was washing the blood and dust. 

“Sam Neal!” repeated Carson; “what ever got him in 
such a fix?” 

At the sound of his name the prostrate man moved 
slightly and murmured the one word, “Injuns,” 

“Indians!” The word fired every heart. What were 
bear or buffalo to a chance at the red devils! 

The story of the brave courier was soon told; 

Lieutenant Gillespie, bearing important dispatches 
from Washington City for Colonel Fremont, lay, with 
four companions, some miles away, in deadly peril from 
the hostile Klamaths, who had surrounded them. As a 
last hope, Neal had made a dash through their lines. 
He had escaped pursuit, and the showers of arrow^s sent 
after him, by a seeming miracle, and had reached 
Fremont’s camp at last, to ask a rescue for his compan- 
ions. 

No need to ask, for, ere all the tale was told, not a 
man who listened but was eager to be in the saddle, and 


A MAN o’ WAX. 


15 


by midnight the gallant Colonel, followed by his trus- 
tiest men, was spurring southward. 

And what a wild ride it was! Now they would enter 
a deep gorge whose pitchy sides closed them in, while, 
high above, like grim sentinels carved in coal, rose sil- 
houettes of peaks and pines. 

Then, again, they would wind around mountain trails, 
where one false step made by their animals would have 
hurled both horse and rider hundreds of feet into the 
black chasms below, while all about them were the weird 
influences of the night, so strangely impressive in these 
vast, unpeopled solitudes. 

But Carson was their leader, — Kit Carson, .that prince 
of guides, — and not a man hesitated to follow blindly. 
Nor was their confidence misplaced, for so skillfully did 
he manage the affair, that at dusk, the next day, they 
reached Gillespie, and the wily redskins were not even 
aware that they had done so. 

Under cover of darkness the barricade was strengthened, 
then, following the advice of their guide, all, except the 
sentinels, lay down to take their much-needed rest, since 
no attack need be expected until the dark hour just 
before dawn, such being the Indian custom. 

That night, far away in old Missouri, Philip’s mother 
had stood in his room, beside the big four-poster, where 
the soft homespun blankets and chinkapin counterpane 
lay like snowdrifts across the downy feather bed, and with 
dim eyes had prayed God to care for her ‘‘one ewe lamb.” 

Well it was for the repose of that fond mother that she 
could not see her boy stretched on his couch of pine- 
needles, roofless save for the glittering sky above, while 
around him, in the darkness, lurked hundreds of savages 
athirst for blood. 

But Philip’s sleep was unbroken even by a dream, and, 
when aroused to make ready for the attack, he was as 


16 


A MAN o’ WAX. 


much refreshed as though he had lain at ease beneath 
his own roof-tree. 

The Indians did not keep the eager defenders of the 
barricade long in suspense, but came bounding forward 
to the attack with all the confidence of assured victors, 
uttering yells and screeches of triumph. They did not 
suspect that their intended victims had been reinforced, 
and the blaze of fire and hail of lead that met them took 
them completely by surprise. Back they fled into the 
darkness, leaving the ground strewn with the dead and 
dying. 

Their leader, however, never flinched, nor ceased send- 
ing his arrows at the barricade, though he kept con- 
stantly springing from side to side to avoid the shots 
poured upon him, all the while uttering yells of defiance 
or calling upon his warriors to return. 

Philip was moved to admiration. “ Stop firing, boys,” 
he said; “let us respect a brave man, even though he is 
a savage.” 

“Young man,” replied Carson, “you may respect his 
memory, and put up a tombstone to that effect, but, for 
my part, I think he had better be in his happy hunting- 
grounds.” So saying, the guide sent a bullet in the di- 
rection of the intrepid Indian, but without effect. At the 
same moment back came the retreating warriors with a 
rush, and attacked the barricade with such fury that the 
defenders began to fear it must yield. 

“We will all die in here like rats in a trap,” said some 
one. 

“ That we will not,” replied the gallant Fremont, and 
shouting, “Out, boys, and at them!” he leaped over the 
barricade. Every man followed, close at his heels. For 
a time it seemed that pandemonium had turned loose. 
The savage yells and curses of grappling men, mingled 
with the reports of guns and pistols, were repeated a 
hundred-fold by echoes from the depth of the forest. 


A MAN o’ WAX. 


17 


Philip and Wild had kept close together during the 
fray, sometimes fighting back to back, as overwhelming 
numbers of redskins closed around them. At last, how- 
ever, a blow from a club stretched Wild senseless, and 
Philip, turning, saw the gleam of a knife just in time to 
strike aside the arm that held it, and deal the painted 
warrior a blow that sent him reeling backwards in the 
agonies of death, — a death, however, not unavenged. 
Even as the death-cry of his fallen foe smote Philip’s 
ears, his arms were suddenly pinioned behind him, and 
half a score of sinewy hands were dragging him away so 
rapidly, that, almost before he could realize the horror of 
his situation, he was deep in the heart of the forest, help- 
less, and a prisoner. 


18 


A MAN o’ WAX. 


CHAPTER III. 

Fainter and fainter came the sounds of the conflict, 
as Philip was forced along the forest trail, until, at last, 
listen as he might, he could no longer hear them. “A 
pretty ending to all my romantic dreams,” he thought, 
grimly; “for an end it is, unless Providence has some 
special work laid out for me. Well, I ’ll not show the 
white feather, even though I am as downy as a goose, 
and will die as game as though my skin were copper- 
colored.” 

Nerved by these resolutions, he began to make overtures 
of friendship to his captors, and remembering that “ music 
hath charms to soothe the savage breast,” determined to 
give the assertion a practical test. He began singing, 
very softly at first, then, as he noted the grunts of satis- 
faction with which his song was received, gave his fine 
voice full play. The effect was all that he could have 
desired, for although the words of the songs were not 
understood by the simple children of the forest, the spirit 
was^ and the responsive chords in their hearts were 
touched. 

His thongs were loosened, a piece of dried buffalo- 
tongue thrust into his hand, and other little attentions 
shown him, which served to mitigate the hardships of his 
lot. Above all, he was given to understand that there 
was a possibility of his being adopted into the tribe, in 
accordance with their custom, if a certain aged squaw, 
recently made motherless by the loss of her son, could be 
induced to receive him in that son’s place. 

It seemed like a grim satire of fate, but life was sweet 
on any terms; so Philip readily consented to their plan. 

“It will serve to gain time, at any rate,” he thought; 


A MAN WAX. 


19 


“and that is much, because, when the boys find that I 
am missing, they will take the trail and have me out in 
a jiffy.’' 

On their arrival at the Indian village, Philip was made 
to understand that he was to be presented to the mother- 
less squaw for adoption. Her approval would make all 
the difference in the world in his treatment at their hands. 

They found her seated on a bearskin, beneath a huge 
tree, intent upon caressing a grizzly cub that was sprawl- 
ing in her lap. 

“ See, mother,” said the master of ceremonies, leading 
Philip forward; “we have brought you a son. He is a 
brave warrior. He will be a Klamath. Pie will bring 
you game from the forest, and fish and wild fowls from 
the lake. Come, up with you, mother, and welcome your 
son.” 

As the old creature lifted her repulsive, sin-wrinkled 
face, and leered at Philip through her gummy lids, he 
shuddered with disgust. Would it be possible to tolerate 
the situation even for the sake of living? Vfas life worth 
it? Yes; a “live dog is better than a dead lion,” after 
all; so he smiled very pleasantly at his prospective 
mother, never doubting for a moment that she would 
eagerly adopt him. What, then, was his surprise to see 
her make gestures of refusal, and turn again to fondling 
her pet cub! 

Nor could any arguments or persuasions induce her to 
change her mind. She would have none of him; so 
Philip was marched to the stockade and secured to a post, 
where he was left, under guard, to await the return of the 
chief and his warriors. 

They soon came trooping in. He could hear the thuds 
of their mustangs’ shoeless hoofs as they came galloping 
over the soft ground, and braced himself to meet what- 
ever cruel fate was in store for him. 


20 


A MAN o’ WAX. 


The door of the stockade was suddenly thrown open. 
Have they come for him so soon? No; they are bringing 
in more prisoners, and, to his dismay, he recognizes the 
voice of his friend, Barney O’Brien. 

‘‘Howly Saint Pathrick, try now and persuade these 
swate Injuns to draw thim buffalo- thongs joost a leetle 
milder, else they will cut me arhms off intirely,” he said, 
as a couple of redskins secured him to a post. 

‘^My God! Barney, is that you?” exclaimed Philip, 
ain’t gainsaying of it, Misther Bee; and sorry am I 
that ye air there to kape me company. But our b’ys 
licked thim red divils, and will be on our trail prisently; 
so — ” 

A blow on the mouth cut short the information, but 
Philip was cheered by what he had heard, and his hopes 
rose accordingly. He felt sure that rescue would come, 
but would it come in time? 

The defeated savages were thirsting for revenge, there- 
fore, by high noon they were ready to begin the torture of 
their unfortunate victims. 

The two who had been brought in with Barney were 
led out first. Their shrieks of agon}" were dreadful to 
hear, and the young Irishman’s rosy cheeks paled at the 
sounds. 

“Cheer up, Barney dear,” said Philip, noting the terror 
in his friend’s once merry blue eyes. “We can only die 
once, my boy, and let us die like braves. Do you re- 
member the Algonquin’s death-song?” and Philip began 
humming that weird refrain, — 

“‘Though the flames roll on high, and my heart-strings burst 
with pain, 

Yet the son of Algonquin will never complain.’ 

We must not give these wretches the satisfaction of hear- 
ing us shriek. Let us die as courageously as a redskin.” 


A MAN o’ WAX. 


21 


Barney O’Brien can die right enough, Misther Bee,” 
replied the Irishman; “but it ’s the torthure.” 

“Howly Saint Pathrick!” he continued, “if ye can 
drive the snakes out of Ireland, why don’t ye drive thim 
red-skinned varmints out of Ameriky? But, Misther Bee, 
I can niver sthand the torture, and sure am I that Saint 
Pathrick will tache me some thrick so that I can sarcum- 
vint thim divils.” 

The shrieks of the tortured men had gradually died 
away into moans, and had finally ceased altogether. 
Then footsteps were heard approaching, the door was 
again opened, and Barney’s time had come, for the guard 
cut the thongs that bound him to the post, and, though 
still pinioned, he was marched to the door. 

Here he turned for a last look at his friend. “I’ll wait 
for ye at the gate, Misther Bee, and we ’ll make the 
journey togither; so here ’s good by to ye till we meet 
again,” he said. 

Through tear-dimmed eyes Philip looked upon the 
kindly young face for the last time, — the door closed, and 
Barney was gone. 

Philip dreaded to hear the shrieks wrung from this 
genial lad by torture, but all was silence, save the usual 
noises of the camp, and it was not until long afterwards 
that he understood the reason. Surely, Saint Patrick or 
some other kindly influence suggested to Barney a plan 
that insured him a death swift, sudden, and, it may be, 
painless. It came to Barney suddenly as he walked 
towards the stake with quaking heart, and without hesi- 
tation he determined to use it if possible. 

It so happened that one of the guards spoke a little 
English, so that by many repetitions and accompanying 
signs Barney made him understand that he had a very 
important secret to communicate to the chief, and was 


22 


A MAN o’ WAX. 


willing to reveal it if his life would be spared. He man- 
aged to interest his listeners, who in turn awakened the 
curiosity of the chief. A council was held, and, through 
the interpreter, the Irishman made known his mighty 
secret, while the braves sat solemnly in a semicircle, each 
with his piercing eyes fixed on the prisoner’s face, as 
though to detect the shadow of imposture. 

But Barney stood the test without flinching. Assuming 
an air of mystery, he made known the fact that his 
father, who lived across the big water, was a mighty 
medicine-man, the seventh son of a seventh son, and had 
taught him how to prepare a certain ointment, which, 
when rubbed on any part of the body, made it proof 
against the sharpest weapon ever known. Now the herbs 
used in preparing the wonderful ointment grew in the 
forest all around them, and if brewed with certain 
mystic rites, possessed all the power he had said. He 
was very positive in his assertions, — so very sure of what 
he said, that he was perfectly willing to have it tested 
upon himself, and so show the warriors that his words 
were true. 

In making known what Barney said, the interpreter 
made additions on his own account, among which was 
the suggestion to test the matter. If the white man was 
a liar, he could be made to suffer for his deceit by a little 
additional torture. 

The councillors deliberated the matter, and finally 
agreed to the test; so Barney, under a strong guard, 
gathered the herbs, and with many mysterious signs and 
incantations prepared the magic ointment. He would 
fain have postponed giving it the trial, hoping that by 
delay rescue might come, but the Indians were impatient 
and clamored for the performance, and a doubting 
Thomas, always in evidence in any community, was 


A MAN o’ WAX. 


23 


present there also, and might cause the chief to change 
his mind; so all was speedily made ready. 

The whole village had gathered to witness the won- 
derful feat of the medicine-man, — squaws, old and 
young, papooses, and dogs. A circle was formed, in 
the midsfc of which stood Barney, the only calm one 
in the excited crowd, while around him were ranged 
a dozen warriors, with knives and tomahawks sharp- 
ened for the purpose, ready to test the power of the 
magic ointment. 

With steady hands Barney bared his beautiful neck, 
white as snow and firm as alabaster, and, motioning 
aside the swarthy foes who would have assisted him, 
anointed it alone. Then, commending his soul to God, 
he laid his head upon a log and signed for them to strike. 

Half a dozen warriors threw themselves into position. 
Their weapons gleamed in the air, for they had planned 
to strike their blows in quick succession. The first fell 
swift and sure on the bare, white neck, and Barney was 
beyond all fear of torture. 

As his head rolled from the trunk, and a stream of 
crimson shot upward, spattering the faces bent forward 
in their eagerness, yells of disappointment and rage rose 
from hundreds of dusky throats. 

They buried their knives in his body, and fairly tore it 
into pieces, so great was their anger at being thus tricked. 
They set his head upon a pole, mocking and taunting it, 
and when wearied with that poor revenge, bethought 
them of the other prisoner, — on him they could doubly 
glut their vengeance. No memory of the pity that 
had once stirred their hearts when he sang, remained. 
He was simply a creature, helpless, and in their power, 
on whom to inflict pain, and they but the reflection of 
their more diabolical brethren, the vivisectionists, in 


24 


A MAN o’ WAX. 


whom their savage instincts are multiplied a hundred- 
fold. Devils all. The torture inflicted by the savage 
lasts but a few hours, and his instruments are crude; 
that inflicted by the so-called scientist lasts indefinitely, 
and is made more intense by cunning instruments de- 
vised by hellish brains. 


A MAN o’ WAX. 


25 


CHAPTER IV. 

“But bold Tydides to the rescue goes.” 

Homer. 

When the door closed upon Barney, Philip gave him- 
self up to despair. ‘‘All is lost,’’ he cried; “for if rescue 
comes, it will come too late. Alas for the poor boy! 
How can I lie here helpless and listen to his shrieks of 
agony?” 

It seemed to Philip that all the sorrow ever endured by 
the human race, if summed up, would not equal what he 
felt as he waited for the dreaded moment that would tell 
him the savages had begun their hellish work. 

He did not know what was going on, nor that the guard 
left over him had been unable to resist the temptation 
which held the crowd around Barney almost breathless, 
and had crept away from the stockade. 

But there was one who had watched and waited for the 
very opportunity that now came, — an Indian girl, the 
niece of the old hag who had refused to adopt Philip. 
He had smiled upon the girl unconsciously, and had for- 
gotten her existence. But she had not forgotten the 
young American, and her shrewd brain devised a plan to 
rescue him. During the excitement and interest in 
Barney’s scheme, her absence was unnoticed. To steal 
quietly away, to find the weak spot in the stockade, 
known already, to creep through, cut the prisoner’s 
thongs, thrust some strips of biltong into his pockets, and, 
without a word, to put him on the trail leading eastward, 
was accomplished with such expedition, that Philip, 
speeding swiftly through the forest, could scarcely realize 
he was the same man who, but a short time before, lay 
hopeless and a prisoner. 


26 


A MAN o’ WAX. 


With the blind instinct of self-preservation, he kept 
steadily on his way, putting out his utmost speed. If he 
could only reach the river and throw them off the trail, 
he might yet escape. Fear lent him powers of endurance, 
that he did not imagine he possessed, but, at length, he 
found himself greatly spent, and hearing no sounds of 
pursuit, slackened his pace. He even paused for a 
moment to refresh himself at a brooklet that rippled 
between its banks of moss and ferns. As he stooped for 
a draught of its limpid water, his ear, close to the ground, 
caught sounds that caused him to forget his thirst, his 
weariness, and all else save the fact that his ruthless 
pursuers were on his trail. 

Again he speeds forward, — on, on, on. He knows that 
he is nearing the edge of the forest, since the trees grow 
more sparsely. Then he sees before him a clearing, 
covered with tall, thick grasses and low shrubs. These 
retard his speed, and not a moment can he afford to 
lose, with the sounds of pursuit coming nearer and 
nearer. 

At last he sees the gleam of the river through the wil- 
lows and cottonwoods on its bank. If he can only reach 
it, then he can throw his hunters off the scent. 

Alas! what invisible imp, hostile to man, threw his 
foot against the projecting root of a broken shrub, and 
sends him sprawling headlong to the ground? 

At the same moment a half-naked savage, knife in 
hand, comes leaping into the clearing. He has out- 
stripped his companions in the chase, and already sees 
the scalp-lock of his unarmed enemy dangling from his 
waist. 

As Philip regains his footing, he sees his dusky antag- 
onist, and, not waiting to be attacked, draws the knife 
the Indian girl had given him, and makes a furious on- 
slaught, greatly to the surprise of the advancing redskin. 


A MAN o’ WAX. 


27 


However, he is but a poor match for his supple enemy, 
for, grappling at close quarters, it is muscle that will 
win; and what chance has Philip, untrained, and encum- 
bered by clothing, against this brawny, naked child of 
nature, whose arms and limbs are as gnarled as a Mon- 
terey cypress? Twice, thrice, they sway, then Philip, 
yielding slowly, is borne to the ground. The Indian’s 
knee is on his breast, — one sinewy hand grips his throat, 
while the other holds high the gleaming knife ready for 
the fatal plunge. He feels no more mercy for the man 
beneath him than Pasteur feels for his suffering rabbits, 
but holds the knife poised to enjoy the moment of victory 
to its fullest. A moment is but a little space, yet then, 
as in the days of Homer, it held matters of weight. 

‘‘ So soon swift JSthe her lost ground regained, 

One length, one moment had the race obtained.” 

As the Indian paused, his face lit up by his diabolical 
pleasure, the report of a rifle rings out upon the air. 
The uplifted hand relaxes, the knife falls from its grasp, 
and the savage tumbles backward, with a bullet through 
his heart, and his death-cry mingling with the echoes of 
the shot. 

Springing to his feet, Philip looks about him, be- 
wildered by the unexpected deliverance. 

“Are you all right. Bee?” 

It was the well-known voice of Carson, who now came 
from the willows with rapid strides. “ I was in the nick 
of time. A moment later and — but hark!” 

The trained ear of the scout had caught the sound of 
pursuit. “Quick, man,” he said, “or we are lost!” 

They darted among the willows, and made their way 
as rapidly as possible to the river. Running along the 
bank, they at length came to a huge cottonwood whose 
branches hung far out over the water. This they 


28 


A MAN o’ WAX. 


climbed, and swung themselves into the stream. The 
current was swift, and with but little exertion on their 
part, it bore them around a bend, thus concealing them 
from the Indians, who were already running up and 
down the banks of the river above, in search of the lost 
trail, their keen eyes taking in every object within range 
of their vision. 

Fortunately, our two fugitives discover a pile of drift- 
wood lodged on the opposite shore. 

“Dive, and make for it,” said Carson; “it is our last 
chance.” 

In a few moments both were clinging to it, their 
heads only above water, but effectually concealed by 
masses of brush on the drift. 

They had not been a moment too soon. The dusky 
hunters had even swum the stream and were vainly 
searching for the lost trail, passing and repassing the 
drift as they ran back and forth. 

Fortunately, night was close at hand. It set in dark 
and stormy, so the baffled redskins gave up the chase, 
and growlingly returned to their camp. 

Then the two almost exhausted men came cautiously 
from their perilous position, and, sheltering themselves 
in a thicket, wrung the water from their soaked garments, 
and refreshed themselves by eating a portion of the bil- 
tong provided by the Indian girl. Philip suggested an 
hour’s sleep, but Carson was too old a mountaineer not 
to know the danger of such a proceeding in their drenched 
and exhausted condition. “Besides,” he said, “it is not 
more than an hour’s walk to camp.” 

“Camp?” questioned Philip. “It did not occur to me 
to ask you how you came here. It seemed so natural 
that you should be here. Tell me about it, now, as we 
walk along.” 

“There is not much to tell,” replied the scout. “ When 


A MAN o’ WAX. 


29 


the fight was over, four of our men were missing, — you 
among the number. Your friend, though wounded, lost 
not an instant in starting on the trail. There are about 
a dozen of us; the rest are in camp not far away. I left 
them preparing supper, and came out to reconnoiter.” 

“Thank God, Carson, that you did so, else — ” 

“ Don’t mention it. Lieutenant. You are all right now. 
Just put your mustache around the neck of this canteen 
and see what John Barleycorn has to say for himself,” 
said Carson in his soft, drawling tones. “ But I can tell 
you some news that will set your blood stirring more 
quickly than my friend John. Uncle Sam is going to 
fight.” 

“ Fifty-four forty, or fight,” replied Philip. “ Hurrah 
for Uncle Sam! He ’ll give Johnny Bull a harder drub- 
bing this time than when he was a baby. Of course, our 
plucky little Colonel will be in the thick of it.” 

“Of course,” said Carson; “but you are on the wrong 
track. We are not going to fight England this time, but 
Mexico. That’s what brought Gillespie after the Colonel, 
I think. At any rate, he brought the news, and now we 
will have better work than hunting grizzlies and red- 
skins. Uncle Sam has just got to have California and 
Oregon, and his boys ’ll see that he does.” 

After the first joy in Camp at Philip’s return had 
abated, the next topic was the war with Mexico, and back, 
with all speed, went Fremont and his men, each anxious 
to do his part towards giving California her destined place 
in the young republic. Events* followed each other in 
quick succession. The Bear Flag, raised at Sonoma, was 
shortly after replaced by Old Glory, which, by August, 
was also flying at Yerba Buena, Sutter’s Fort, and Bodega. 
Commodore Sloat, to whom Monterey had surrendered, 
had sailed for the Atlantic coast, after having transferred 
his command to Commodore Stockton. 


30 


A MAN o’ WAX. 


CHAPTER V. 

“ As one for giusts and fierce encounters fit.” 

Spenser. 

On Sunday afternoon, July 19, 1846, Fremont’s Bear 
Battalion rode into the quaint old town of Monterey. 
They were as motley a crew as ever followed King Rex 
in his maddest carnival, their buckskin clothing covered 
with dust, the pistols and knives glittering in their belts, 
the long hair flowing from under their caps or sombreros, 
and beards many months old, giving them a wild and 
savage aspect. As, two abreast, they filed through the 
throngs that lined the streets, Philip, who never failed to 
single out a pretty girl, had just caught the glimpse of a 
pair of roguish eyes peeping over a large fan, when, to his 
disgust, he heard the owner ask a natty young naval offi- 
cer, Senor, ees dem really bears? ” 

“ They look more like gorillas, senorita,” is the reply. 

“Bears! gorillas!” murmured Philip, savagely. 

“ Never mind, Phil,” laughed Wild; “ the tailor makes 
the man, you know.” 

“ Assisted, of course, by the knight of the strap,” agreed 
Philip, stroking his beard. 

Four days later, with the bear and gorilla eliminated, 
our two Missourians went aboard The Congress and were 
presented to the Commodore, who, proving to be an old 
college-mate of Philip’s father, gave them both places on 
his staff. A few days later, they were flying southw^ard 
on their mission of conquest, which was speedily accom- 
plished. Then, having issued a proclamation in which 
he declared the territory to be under martial law, and 
leaving Captain Gillespie in command at Los Angeles, 
Stockton returned to Monterey, and from thence to San 


A MAN o’ WAX. 


31 


Francisco, where he was received with ovations as the 
conqueror of California. 

However, on the night of September 29th, less than a 
month after he had proclaimed that he had secured the 
territory, routed the enemy, and ended the war, a courier, 
coming in hot haste from the south, brought tidings of a 
revolt, that sent The Congress once more speeding down 
the coast. 

Although Castro had fled to Altar, and Pio Pico was 
wandering in exile, Jose Maria Flores had once more 
made his headquarters at Los Angeles, and was issuing 
proclamations commanding the Californians to take up 
arms against the invading Americans, or be shot as 
traitors. 

The harborage of San Pedro being unsafe. Commodore 
Stockton anchored in San Diego Bay and established 
himself in the town, “preparatory,” he said, “to begin- 
ning a campaign that would teach the Californians to 
acknowledge Uncle Sam as their master.” 

Philip and his friend Wild being on the Commodore’s 
staff, they, with their commander, had been assigned 
rooms in the residence of a hospitable Don, who prided 
himself on his pure Castilian blood, and held any lower 
caste in contempt. 

His spacious house, containing nearly thirty rooms, 
was a low-ceiled adobe building, extending around the 
four sides of a quadrangular court, each room opening 
from front and rear onto a broad veranda. These 
verandas, shaded by sweet-scented climbers, were pleas- 
ant lounging-places, and it was here that Philip and his 
friend spent many hours smoking their cigars, reclining 
in hammocks or easy-chairs, listening to the music of 
guitars or the band, and idly watching various, phases of 
Mexican life going on in the plaza, on one side of which 
the Don’s house stood. 


32 


A MAN o’ WAX. 


A day or so after their arrival, as they were thus 
pleasantly engaged, — a cock-fight being the object of 
their amusement at the time, — a California carta, drawn 
by two oxen, and accompanied by a couple of dusky out- 
riders, came slowly across the plaza and drew up in 
front of the house. 

No sooner had it halted, than, like a swarm of bees, 
out buzzed the household and surrounded it, Don Juan 
and his wife holding the chief places, and their twenty 
or more Indian servants grouping themselves as closely 
as they dared. From the unusual commotion, our two 
observers knew that some event of moment had oc- 
curred; the two outriders, the maid, and a fat old 
woman draped by a black rebozo were all talking at 
once, each endeavoring to explain something that had 
happened, and to throw the blame on the other. 

At last Don Juan’s voice rose above the din. He 
spoke in Spanish, but the young men had picked up 
enough of that language to enable them to understand 
the conversation. 

“Silence!” he commanded, raising his hand with au- 
thority. “Let no one speak until he is spoken to. I 
will hear the duena first. 

“Sehora, where is my niece?” 

The duena had alighted from the carta, and was wad- 
dling across the veranda, but, at the Don’s stern ques- 
tion, she drew her rebozo over her face, and falling into 
a hide-bottomed chair, gave way to a series of hysterical 
sobs, interlarded with ejaculations of contrition and 
despair. 

Finding it useless to apply in this quarter, the Don 
turned to the maid. 

“Loreta, where is your mistress?” 

Loreta also took refuge in tears, and from behind the 
large silk handkerchief in which she had buried her face, 


A MAN o’ WAX. 


33 


sobbed almost incoherently, “Alas! senor, how can I tell 
when I do not know. Poor, poor senorita!” 

“A plague upon these female idiots!” he cried, losing 
patience, as he turned to question the two men, who still 
sat in stolid silence upon their bronchos. 

At last, by threats and coaxing, he managed to find 
out something of the matter. 

Four days before, the Don’s missing niece had left Los 
Angeles, accompanied by her duena, her maid, and the 
two men-servants. At noon, on that very day, as they 
were resting for lunch and the usual siesta, they had 
been surrounded by Hermosillo and some of his fol- 
lowers. 

At mention of the name, Don Juan turned pale, and 
his wife, devoutly crossing herself, lifted her eyes as if in 
mute appeal to heaven. 

“Dogs! you shall have the rope’s-end for this!” cried 
the Don angrily. “Your backs shall pay for sleeping 
when you were sent to guard!” 

“We fought, Excelencia,” said one of the men. 
“Pedro killed two of the rascals, and I, Manuel, laid five 
of them low.” 

“He lies, Excelencia,” put in Pedro. “It was I, 
Pedro, who killed five, while the cowardly Manuel there 
only crippled one.” 

“Liars both,” said the Don hotly, and — ” 

At this moment a little Indian boy came darting like 
a brown streak across the plaza, and, bounding upon the 
veranda, thrust a little roll of buckskin into the Don’s 
hand. He hastily opened it, and read aloud: — 

“To THE Don Senor Juan, Greeting: 

“I, Hermosillo, now in arms against the invaders of ^ 
my country and the traitors who harbor them, make 
known to you that this day your niece has fallen into 
my hands. I herewith demand for her ransom four / 


34 


A MAN o’ WAX. 


thousand reales, to be used for the national good. Three 
days’ time will be given, when a messenger will wait 
under the two palms for an answer. Any attempt at 
treachery on your part will result in the death of your 
relative. 

Signed, Hermosillo.” 

Here ’s a pretty kettle of fish!” exclaimed the Don; 
“and what to do, is a serious question.” In his per- 
plexity and agitation he appealed to Philip and Wild. 

“You have heard how matters stand, gentlemen,” he 
said. “My young niece, Ysidora, was kidnaped to-day 
by a gang of outlaws, headed by one Hermosillo, who, 
calling themselves partisan rangers, and pretending to 
fight for California, make dashes out of their hiding- 
places in the arroyos, for the purpose of pillage or plun- 
der. Every moment is precious. What do you advise?” 

“Pay the ransom,” said Wild. 

“And leave the young girl, alone and unprotected, at 
the mercy of those brutes!” exclaimed Philip. “Never, 
Don Juan! never! Find a dozen trusty men, arm them 
to the teeth, and let us be off to the rescue within the 
hour!” 

“ Right you are. Lieutenant, and not a moment must 
we lose,” cried the Don, catching Philip’s enthusiasm. 
“Here, boy, which way is thy master?” he continued, 
turning to find the messenger, but the boy had dis- 
appeared. 

“No matter,” he said; “we will arm and mount, and 
then be guided by circumstances. The villains must be 
among the hills to the northward, since it is from that 
direction the carta came. 

As the sun was dipping down behind Point Loma, the 
party of resolute men rode out of the little town, past the 
purpling hills that skirted the road, and in among the 
shadows of the willows on the banks of the river. 


A MAN o’ WAX. 


35 


Here they met with an unexpected piece of good for- 
tune, for, in a sheltered copse not far from the road, 
they saw a smoldering camp-fire, and beside it, fast 
asleep, lay the brown, naked boy who had brought the 
message. They aroused the child, and soon elicited the 
fact that his father was one of Hermosillo’s band, and 
that they were encamped at Las Penasquitas, not twenty 
miles away. 

So onward they galloped, and by midnight reached 
the trail that led down into the little valley. 

All was dark and silent, save the glimmer of a few 
smoldering camp-fires among the cottonwoods, and the 
grewsome howl of a hungry coyote. 

Down the steep trail they moved like shadows. At the 
foot they paused, and Don Juan, dismounting, crept 
softly forward to reconnoiter. After what seemed an 
interminable time to the others, who were waiting, he 
returned. 

“It ’s all right, boys,” he said softly. “The child told 
the truth. My niece is shut in that old adobe, in the 
room where the light is twinkling through the window. 
Now, I propose that two of our party remain here with 
the horses, although we can take the animals nearer 
than this, for any noise they may make will be mistaken 
for their own. Eight of you had best stand ready for 
whatever may happen, on the north side, where the band 
are sleeping, and engage them in case of alarm, while 
Lieutenant Bee and I get my niece out of that room. ^ 
And, Lieutenant,” he continued, “remember that if any- 
thing happens to me, you can give her a seat, since you 
are well mounted. In such an event, waste no time on 
ceremony, but, regardless of everything else, take her 
straight to her aunt at San Diego.” 

These words caused Philip’s heart to beat with an 
enthusiasm worthy a mediaeval knight-errant, and he felt 


36 


A MAN o’ WAX. 


that he could attack the whole band single-handed, put 
them to rout, and rescue the distressed damozel. 

Hermosillo and about twenty of his followers, wearied 
by their day’s excursions, had halted for the night at the 
old ranch-house, which, for the time, had been left by the 
family who owned it, and were sleeping in fancied 
security. 

The night was still and moonless, and Don Juan’s men 
easily escaped the notice of the drowsing sentinel by 
creeping softly up, hidden by the drooping branches of a 
huge pepper tree, while the Don, himself, and Philip 
undertook to make their errand known to the sehorita. 

She had no thought of sleeping, and at the first call of 
her name came to the barred window. 

Yes, uncle, I am here,” she whispered; ^^but how am 
I to get out? The bars across the window cannot be 
moved, and the door is fastened from the outside.” 

“Shall we attack the band, and force our way in?” 
asked the Don. 

“No,” replied Ysidora; “now that I think of it, I have 
a better plan. I noticed to-day that some of the tiles on 
the roof are loose — the ceiling of this room is low — I can 
manage to climb through the opening, — ” 

“And I can manage the rest,” said her uncle. 

“Now, Lieutenant,” he whispered, “young limbs are 
nimbler than old ones; I will stand guard while you 
climb the pepper tree and lend my niece your assistance, 
for those curving tiles are awkward footholds.” 

Philip had scarcely reached the level of the roof and 
planted himself firmly, when the outline of white skirts 
against its dark surface told him that the senorita had 
succeeded in her plan. 

“Uncle,” she said softly. 

“This way,” was the whispered reply. 

An instant later, and two soft arms were around 
Philip’s neck, and a little head cuddling on his shoulder. 


A MAN o’ WAX. 


37 


“How delightful it is to be an uncle,” thought Philip, 
but, instead of expressing the thought, said, “S-h-h! 
Do not speak; your uncle is waiting below.” 

The sweep of the mustache across her cheek, and the 
voice of a stranger close to her ear, so startled the girl 
that with an exclamation of surprise she stepped back- 
wards so suddenly as to throw the loose tile crashing to 
the ground. The sentinel instantly gave the alarm. 

Most of Hermosillo’s band were scattered up and down 
the valley for the purpose of forage, therefore the conflict 
was not as unequal as had been expected. Still, Don 
Juan’s men engaged those who rushed out at the signal 
of alarm, so fiercely that they were kept busy on the 
north side of the house, as had been planned, leaving the 
south side unmolested. As ill luck would have it, how- 
ever, just as Ysidora and Philip reached the ground, a 
Mexican dragoon came around the corner, in full retreat, 
nearly upsetting Don Juan, who, for the moment, was off 
his guard. 

But before the Mexican could recover from his sur- 
prise, the Don attacked him fiercely, at the same time 
saying, “ Vamos, Lieutenant! Make for San Diego.” 

Philip needed no second bidding. Taking Ysidora by 
the hand, together they ran with all speed to the horses. 
A moment later, she was on the saddle before him, and 
away, like another young Lochinvar and his Ellen, they 
were speeding. 

Meantime, the Don had discomfited the dragoon; then 
sounding the signal of retreat, he and his men were soon 
galloping away. Hermosillo had no wish to follow, and 
before dawn the Don and his men were in San Diego 
once more, and Ysidora the heroine of the hour. 

Philip, too, was in the seventh heaven, so to speak. 
He had found his friend up and waiting for him, and an 
interested listener to his night’s adventure. 


38 


A MAN o’ WAX. 


I tell you, Charley, these Californians know how to 
take a girl riding. Never shall I forget the four heavenly 
hours I have spent in this glorious gallop across the 
mesa, the stars glittering overhead, the cool breezes blow- 
ing from the sea, and a lovely houri in the saddle before 
me! Life is worth living, is n’t it, my boy?” 

“ Have you forgotten how near you came losing it at 
Monterey, when you galloped away with that pretty 
Spanish girl, and her sweetheart’s stiletto just missed 
you?” 

“A miss is as good as a mile,” laughed Philip. “Why, 
old fellow, a night like this is worth a hundred in stupid 
old Missouri. It carries me back to the days of Ivan- 
hoe.” 

“ Take care, Philip. The next thing, you will imagine 
yourself in love with this rescued Rebecca. Don’t add 
another name to your list. Come, now, did you ever 
look into your real nature with an introverted eye? Did 
you ever analyze your heart?” 

“What kind of a specimen do you think I am, 
Charley?” he replied. “Do you think I am like one of 
those cold-blooded creatures classified as human, yet who 
enjoy sticking pins in other creatures and leaving them 
to perish by inches? Maybe you want to stick a skewer 
through my heart, to see what kind of stuff it is made of. 
Analyze my heart, indeed! What would Dan Cupid say 
to that? 

“Oh, Philip, you are an incorrigible,” replied Wild; 
“but I suppose a leopard cannot change his spots, since 
there were forces at work upon them ages before the 
leopard himself was evolved.” 


A MAN WAX. 


39 


CHAPTER VI. 

The San Diegans, like other Californians, were genial 
and hospitable. They were ignorant of the existence of 
certain conventionalities that trammel society, and were 
perfectly contented with their simple lives of ease and 
pleasure. 

Various amusements, common in that section, were 
devised to entertain the Americans while preparations 
were being completed for the advance upon Los Angeles. 

Dancing, feasting, gambling, chicken-pulling, bear- 
baiting, and other sports succeeded each other, all of 
which the Americans seemed to enjoy from their very 
novelty. 

Since Philip was under the same roof as Ysidora, it 
was only natural that he should be her escort on many 
of these occasions; and it goes without saying that she 
took captive his susceptible heart. 

Wild saw this with sorrow, and remonstrated. 

“ Surely, Philip, you are not in earnest,’’ he said. 

never was in such deadly earnest in my life be- 
fore,” replied he. 

‘‘My boy,” said Wild, sadly, “what would your mother 
and father say? Both came from good old Virginia 
stock, and can count a dozen coats of arms between 
themselves and the gallant captain who fought by the 
side of the Conqueror and won his spurs at Hastings.” 

“Oh, bother the Conk! ” exclaimed Philip. “He was 
a rascally old robber, and stole the estates that he be- 
stowed upon my ancestor.” 

“But the blood, Philip, — the blood. Would you mix 
yours with that of the Latin race?” persisted Wild. 

“Ysidora’s father was English and her mother a pure 


40 


A MAN o' WAX. 


Castilian; so she is only half Latin, — and she is the 
prettiest and most charming girl I ever saw.’’ 

“And so forth and so on, to be continued,” interrupted 
Wild, as he lighted a cigar and went out of the room. 
“The poor soul is as enchanted as ever Don Quixote 
was. It is folly to argue with a lunatic.” 

Ysidora was certainly a very charming girl. Although 
born in Madrid, she had spent some years among her 
Y father’s relatives in England; therefore she spoke Eng- 
r lish. She was an excellent musician, sang like a mock- 
ing-bird, danced like a fairy, and was as sparkling as a 
^ glass of champagne. 

She was also thoroughly human enough to enjoy the 
adulation that men so freely gave her. It appeared to 
be her natural right. Thus, more from the love of appro- 
bation than from any particular motive, she drifted into 
the habit of accepting the burnt-offerings of admiration 
so constantly laid at her feet. 

This was often a cause of remonstrance on the part of 
her dueha. 

“ Bonita mia,” she would say, “ why do you lead those 
Caballeros on until they love you and tell you of it, or at 
least until they are so much your slaves that you cause 
them pain. Do you love to see people suffer?” 

“Shocking, Auntie Anita!” Ysidora would reply. 
“You know that it is not because I am cruel. How can 
I say, ‘ Poor young man, let me warn you not to fall in 
love with me. Although I am such a charming creature, 
I am a heartless one, and will break your poor heart 
in the end?’ No, no, Anita; I cannot do that. Never 
worry about my lovers, dearest. Men have died from 
time to time, and worms have eaten them, — but not for 
love, Anita, not for love.^^ 

And so, like a young queen, Ysidora continued to re- 
ceive the homage of her admirers, chief of whom was 


A MAN o’ WAX. 


41 


Philip, whom Wild gave over as being absolutely en- 
chanted. 

A smile from her perfect lips, or a meaning glance 
from the depths of her dark eyes, although no word was 
spoken, and he was the happiest man in existence; at 
other times, when smiles and glances were bestowed else- 
where, he was the most miserable. 

One night (December 2, 1846) a ball was in progress 
at the residence of Doha Maria Irbaha. Sweet strains of 
music came floating through the doorway and windows, 
around which were gathered groups of humbler folk, de- 
barred by social caste from the enjoyment within. A 
little apart from these, but in such a position that his 
eye could take in the room, stood Philip, with contracted 
brows and an aspect so gloomy that Edgar of Ravens- 
wood might well have looked to his laurels. 

To understand this young man’s emotions as he stood 
there watching his lady-love whirling in the entran- 
cing waltz, encircled by the supporting arm of Cap- 
tain Gray, one must himself have felt, at some time, the 
fangs of the yellow-eyed monster gnawing at his heart- 
strings. 

Perhaps she lifts her lovely eyes too often to those of 
her partner; perhaps she leans too confidingly on his 
shoulder; perhaps, — well, perhaps Philip accepts as ‘‘con- 
firmation” the “trifles light as air” which make this lit- 
tle planet seem such a wretched dwelling-place, that he 
heartily wishes he were elsewhere. At any rate, he 
can endure the sight no longer, and neither knowing 
nor caring whither he goes, strides away across the 
plaza. 

As he walked moodily along, his hands thrust into his 
pockets and his eyes bent upon the ground, he nearly 
upset another pedestrian, coming slowly from the oppo- 
site direction. 


42 


A MAN o’ WAX. 


‘‘Hello, there!” cried Philip. “Isn’t this plaza large 
enough for two?” 

“’Pears not, Lieutenant; and I’m mighty glad that it 
is n’t.” 

At that moment the moon came from behind a 
cloud and fell full upon the speaker, a small man in a 
buckskin suit and a coonskin cap, who smilingly ex- 
tended his hand. 

Philip grasped it heartily, saying in tones of genuine 
pleasure, “Why, Carson, is it really you? I thought 
you were on your way to Washington with dispatches.” 

“I did start,” replied the scout, “but I met General 
Kearny on the way, and came back with him as a 
guide, while Kirkpatrick went on with the papers. 
Kearny is up at Santa Maria now, short of supplies, 
and expecting, at any hour, to be attacked by a superior 
number of Californians. 

I managed to get through the lines, and came down 
here for help. I am on my way to Commodore Stock- 
ton’s headquarters, and must see him to-night, for what- 
ever troops he sends must be on the road by daylight, at 
latest.” 

“I am on Stockton’s staff,” said Philip; “so come 
right along with me.” 

The matter was speedily arranged. Before sunrise 
the troops selected for the purpose were spurring north- 
ward, and by nightfall had reached Kearny and his 
hungry men, who were camped on a hillside, beneath 
a group of giant live-oaks, whose dense, wide-spreading 
foliage proved an excellent shelter. 

A clear, cold stream of water came rushing down from 
the mountain above, pausing as though to rest in a 
grassy pool, then hurrying noisily on its way. The lower 
lands were lost to view in the heavy gray mist that hung 
over them, and lay in soft, woolly patches high up on 


A MAN o’ WAX. 


43 


the hillsides. Far beyond, rose peak after peak of dis- 
tant mountains white with snow. 

It caused a grewsome feeling to move about in this 
upper region, cut off, as it were, from the busy world, 
and to fear that at any moment, from the unseen depths 
below, an armed foe might spring, ready to battle to the 
death. 

Kearny’s worn-out troops gave Carson’s little com- 
pany a warm welcome, and especially were they grateful 
for the comforts that cheer the ‘‘inner man,” or, more 
properly speaking, the inner animal. Equally grate- 
ful to the chilled and weary newcomers were the warm, 
bright camp-fires, around which, in true Bohemian free- 
dom, they soon were merrily chatting as though they 
had known each other always. 

The canteen passed freely, and soon, under its genial 
influence, they began to grow eager for a brush with the 
enemy. 

“ Who ’s afraid of them cowardly Californians, any- 
way?” exclaimed one. 

“ One of us Americans can lick half a dozen of ’em, 
single-handed,” remarked another. 

“You bet,” drawled Carson in his soft, low voice as he 
joined the group and stretched his lean, buckskin-clad 
legs to the Are. “I know them fellows. Their bark is 
worse than their bite.” 

“For my part, Carson,” said Captain Moore, of Kear- 
ny’s dragoons, “I should like to know something defl- 
nite. We hear so much and cannot really rely on any- 
thing. I shouldn’t enjoy having those fellows dash 
suddenly out of that fog bank, and have us on their 
lances like so many geese on spits, before we understood 
what they were about.” 

“What say you to a reconnoissance, Ben?” inquired 
Lieutenant Hammond. “Gillespie says that on his way 


44 


A MAN o’ WAX. 


up he heard that Andreas Pico, with about eighty men, 
was at San Pasqual, which, I believe, is only about ten 
miles from here.” 

“A good idea, Tom,” replied Captain Moore. “I will 
see the old man [General Kearny] about it right away.” 

“‘Ben/ ‘Tom,’ ‘old man,’” muttered Philip. “I like 
that. Surely, nothing takes the starch out of the army 
more effectively than a diet of mule meat. Poor fellows! 
I suppose they were glad enough to keep bodies and 
souls together on their long journey out, even at that 
cost.” 

The General having consented to the proposed recon- 
noissance, the party, consisting of Lieutenant Ham- 
mond, Philip, ten dragoons, and a guide, set off for 
San Pasqual valley. The December afternoon was clos- 
ing in dark and threatening, and a fine, drizzling rain 
was beginning to fall. 

“Just the night for a lark,” said Philip, securely ad- 
justing his scrape, and pulling his hat well over his eyes 
to protect his face. 

“Jack Cade could n’t ask a better,” replied Ham- 
mond. 

“ Keep close together, boys, and mum ’s the word,” he 
continued, addressing the dragoons, who, mounted on 
mules or bronchos, fell in the rear. 

They rode silent as shadows through the deepening 
darkness of the night, following the guide over mesa and 
hill, until at last he drew rein at the top of a trail lead- 
ing down into what seemed an inky chasm. They knew 
it was the valley, and that the twinkling lights in the 
distance burned in the tule and adobe huts of the Indian 
village. 

Down the trail they went, trusting entirely to the in- 
stincts of their animals, and rode cautiously down the 
valley towards the village, where they believed Andreas 


A MAN o’ WAX. 


45 


Pico to be encamped. When a few rods distant, they 
tie their horses to a clump of willows close-by, in the 
shadows of which they leave the dragoons. Then the 
guide and the two lieutenants cautiously enter the vil- 
lage. 

All three creep softly from hut to hut, pausing now 
and then to listen, or to apply an eye to some friendly 
chink. Near the center of the village stood a hut some- 
what larger than the rest. Its door was ajar, and by 
the light of a bright fire that burned on an open hearth, 
Hammond saw about twenty Californians asleep on the 
floor. 

A solitary Indian nodding in the chimney corner ap- 
peared to be the only guard. 

‘‘By George! here they are, Bee,” whispered the 
Lieutenant; and both young men peered through the 
aperture. “The one on the right is Andreas Pico. I 
saw him at Los Angeles. What say you to calling the 
boys and giving these fellows a little surprise party.” 

“No,” said the guide, coming up at the moment. “I 
have just been talking to an old Indian, who says there 
are about three hundred here, waiting to attack Captain 
Gillespie. They think he is out on a cattle-raid for 
Stockton’s forces. The old man did not seem to know 
anything about General Kearny.” 

“Some ancient imbecile, perhaps,” said Philip. “We 
had better return and report before doing anything 
rash.” 

At that moment one of the horses neighed, and the 
next instant a sentinel’s alarm rang out above the 
moaning wind and noise of splashing rain. At the 
sound, every sleeper in the hut sprang to his feet and 
hastened out, eager to know the cause of the disturb- 
ance. 

“Americanos! Gringos! Viva California!” were the 


46 


A MAN o’ WAX. 


cries that were raised on all sides as the Californians 
ran excitedly about, but, under cover of the friendly 
darkness, the scouting party made good their escape. 
They, no doubt, would have used whip and spur more 
sparingly had they known that the Californians could 
not give pursuit, since their horses had been sent some 
miles away to pasture. 


A MAN o’ WAX. 


47 


CHAPTER VII. 

“ The King of France, with forty thousand men, 

Marched up a hill — and then marched down again.” 

On receiving the report of the reconnoitering party, 
General Kearny decided to make an immediate attack on 
the Californians at San Pasqual, hoping to surprise and 
take them at a disadvantage. Therefore “boots and 
saddles’’ was sounded, and soon the little army was on 
the move. 

The rain had slackened, but the night was raw and 
cold, the roads heavy, and the nine miles that brought 
them at dawn to the brow of the hill overlooking the 
valley were nine as weary miles as many of them had 
ever traveled. 

In their muddy, wet, and wobegone condition, they 
bore but slight resemblance to the ideal conquering 
heroes who were to wrest California from a hated foe. 
Their courage, however, was of the right sort, and when 
they saw their enemies at the foot of the hill, drawn up 
in battle array, with lances and escopetas ready to re- 
ceive a charge, should it be made, they gave a wild battle- 
yell, and made it. 

Down the steep grade at a gallop dash Captain Johnson 
and Lieutenant Bee, with twelve of Uncle Sam’s dragoons 
close at their heels, regardless of the uneven ground, 
loose stones, and thorny cacti in their way, — regardless, 
too, of the superior numbers waiting to receive them. 

When they reach the foot of the hill, the Californians, 
wildly cheering, close in around them, and they have it, 
hand to hand, hot and furious. 

Down go some of the brave dragoons, and ill would it 
have fared with all, no doubt, had not General Kearny 


48 


A MAN WAX. 


and his men appeared on the brow of the hill, spurring 
to the rescue. 

Seeing this, the commander of the Californians gives 
the order to retreat, and away they flee, swiftly as their 
horses can bear them, down the valley and towards the 
hills and arroyos on its opposite side. 

Then, cheering, yelling, and almost shrieking with joy, 
the Americans follow pell-mell, without order, confident 
of success, and madly elated by their easy victory. On- 
ward flee the retreating Californians, and after them, over 
brush and brier, gallop the Americans. 

A mile, two miles, is passed, then, suddenly, clear as a 
clarion, rings out Andreas Pico’s command, ‘‘Wheel and 
counter-charge! ” 

As though moved by one impulse, the Californians 
turn their horses, and, dashing their rowels in the already 
bleeding sides, ride at full speed towards the pursuing 
Americans, who are taken completely by surprise. 

The onslaught is as furious as the retreat has been 
swift. Hand to hand they have it again, clubbed mus- 
kets, lances, sabers, and escopetas clashing in death- 
dealing blows. 

Captain Moore and Lieutenant Hammond are nowhere 
to be seen, both having fallen early in the conflict. 
Down goes Streeter under the sixteenth lance-thrust. 
Down go Gibson, and Warner, and Robideau, the guide, 
cheering as they fall. Down go other brave fellows 
under the strokes of these incomparable horsemen, who 
wheel and guide their animals with such skill that the 
legend of the Centaur seems no longer a myth. 

The fighting is hot while it lasts, and the straggling 
Americans, taken by surprise, are at a disadvantage, yet 
they quickly rally, and, in spite of all, hold the ground. 
Again the Californians are compelled to retreat, but 
General Kearny is in no condition to follow. His army 


A MAN o’ WAX. 


49 


go into camp among the willows that skirt the little 
river, bury their dead, and care for their wounded. 

Night closes in; the mists settle down over the valley; 
the moon rises bright above the line of black hills on the 
east; and the wind, sweeping in from the sea, wails its 
requiems for the dead, while the dark willows bend their 
lithe forms like mourners above the new-made graves of 
those who, but a few hours before, were full of life and 
hope. Slowly the hours go by. The wearied soldiers 
sleep; the sentinels change their beats, the stars march 
in stately silence across the sky, and day, at last, dawns 
again. 


50 


A MAN o’ WAX. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


“Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths.” 

Shakespeare. 

At an early hour the Americans began their march 
towards San Diego. The Californians continued to 
harass them, and, when near Mount San Bernardino, so 
surrounded and checked their advance, that they were 
obliged to take refuge on the top of that high, cone-shaped 
hill, and lay in a state of siege, until the indefatigable 
Carson and Lieutenant Beal crept through the lines at 
night, and again brought relief from San Diego, Lieuten- 
ant Gray arriving only in time to save them from actual 
suffering. 

They reached San Diego December 12th, and found 
such a kindly welcome awaiting them, that they were 
repaid for past hardships endured. 

They had, however, but little time to enjoy their newly 
won laurels, for it was decided to march northward 
almost immediately and attack General Flores at Los 
Angeles, striking, if possible, a decisive blow. 

Accordingly, one December morning, the little army, 
six hundred strong, assembled in the plaza. All was 
bustle and excitement. The band was making the air 
ring with ‘‘Yankee Doodle,’’ the crowd was cheering, 
handkerchiefs waving, and away marched the boys in 
blue, while above them floated the lovely American flag 
made by Juan Bandini’s beautiful daughters. 

When compared with the gigantic proportions that 
war has assumed at the present day, this little “ Army of 
the West” seems to scarcely deserve the name, but at 
that time it was considered very formidable, and was so 
reported to General Flores, whose numerous scouts 


A MAN o’ WAX. 


51 


watched it from the hilltops and fled before its ap- 
proach. 

On January 8th, they reached San Gabriel valley, 
through which a small stream of the same name flows in 
a southeasterly direction. Approaching the valley from 
the southeast, the road is level until the river is reached, 
but on the opposite side of the stream there is a bluff 
some fifty feet high. 

It was on this elevation, which commanded the ford, 
that General Flores had posted five hundred men and 
tv/o nine-pounders, and was waiting in person to receive 
the expected Americans. The right wing was formed by 
Manuel Garfias and Andreas Pico, who had led the 
Californians at San Pasqual, with two squadrons of 
cavalry, while the left consisted of another mounted 
squadron, under Carrillo. 

The Americans were nothing daunted by this formi- 
dable display and the advantage of position held by the 
enemy. They marched steadily forward and advanced 
boldly across the stream, regardless of the showers of 
grape and round shot that plowed the water around 
them. 

Referring to history for a detailed account of this en- 
gagement, one finds that for two mortal hours each side 
threw shot and shell into the other’s ranks; one learns 
how the right and left wings deployed ; how solid squares 
were formed, which boldly received and returned attacks 
from the enemy’s center, and how furiously each side 
charged and counter-charged upon flank and rear. 

And, above all this, let one imagine that he can hear 
the clash of sabers, the deadly whirr of bullets, the fierce 
roar of the cannon, and the groans — but no! one could 
scarcely hear above the clatter and clash and roar the 
groans of only eight poor fellows who had been v/ounded. 
For that was about the summing up of the fight at 


52 


A MAN o' WAX. 


San Gabriel, when the god of battle had smiled on the 
Americans and the Californians had fled. 

Instead of following up the fleeing enemy, Uncle Sam’s 
boys went into camp and made themselves as comfortable 
as possible, with Old Glory floating above them and the 
band making the air ring with our national airs as 
lustily as though the government had the ear of a 
Dionysius, and could hear every sound in his vast 
dominion. 

‘‘Only two killed and eight wounded on our side,” 
said Philip, proudl3^ “ What poor marksmen those fel- 
lows are!” 

“It is more the fault of that worthless San Gabriel 
gunpowder. It is n’t good for anything,” some one said. 

Then Kit Carson stretched himself before the camp-fire 
as he said, dryly, “ What ’s the matter with Uncle Sam- 
uel’s gunpowder? Do you know that there is n’t a dead 
Californian on the field?” 

“What do you mean, Carson?” cried Philip. “No 
dead Californians!” 

“No one. Lieutenant; but ‘tell it not in Gath,’ or they 
may pluck up courage and give us another fight.” 

It was as Carson had said. According to the best 
authorities, not a single Californian had paid with his life 
for the glory of being shot at, that day, in the battle of 
San Gabriel. 

The war now was practically over, unless we take into 
account some skirmishing and harmless long-range firing, 
at what is called the Battle of the Mesa. 

On January 10th, the Americans took possession of 
Los Angeles; on the 19th of the same month, Commodore 
Stockton embarked at San Pedro, on a man-of-war, for 
San Diego, arriving there on the 22d, and being welcomed 
with great rejoicings. 


A MAN o’ WAX. 


53 


CHAPTER IX. 

“ I eat and sleep and wake, what then? 

I eat and sleep and wake again.” 

Philip’s sudden departure had broken the usual 
monotony of Waxhav/, giving the gossips sweet morsels 
to roll under their tongues,” in the way of such remarks 
as, “That’s what Judge Bee gets for trying to make a 
wdiistle out of a pig’s tail,” or “Pore Agnes Carew! 
Reckon all them fine fixin’s she has been hemstitchin’ 
an’ rufflin’ will be yaller enough befo’ that butterfly 
comes back to marry her,” and so on, ad libitum. 

Meantime the days came and went with their wonted 
dullness. Spring and summer glided by, and once more 
the wooded hills around the little town began to glow in 
the gay livery of October. 

It is Saturday afternoon, and, as usual, the same crowd 
is lounging around the post-office, awaiting the arrival of 
the mail. 

At last, amid the merry notes of the horn and the 
clatter of wheels up dashes the coach. On this occasion, 
however, the mail-bags, the four grays, and the debonair 
driver are not the centers of attraction, since there is a 
passenger aboard, and as his head appears at the little 
window, every tongue is hushed, and every neck craned 
for a glimpse of him. Even the beclouded brain of old 
Billy grasps the idea that something unusual has 
occurred, for when Trip begins to bark, he gives the little 
creature a kick that sends it howling out of sight. 

The passenger appears fully conscious of the interest 
he excites, and seems to enjoy it. 

He measured the crowd at a glance, then said, rather 
pompously, “Driver, take me to the best hotel in the 
city.” 


54 


A MAN o’ WAX. 


The individual addressed was not in the least over- 
awed by the superior tone and manner, and answered 
cheerily, All right, Cap’n. I ’ll take yer tow the best 
tavern in the United States, an’ you ’ll say so when 
Major Canada gits done with yer.” 

So, amid the snaps of the whiplash and a merry blast 
on the horn, away rolls the coach, much to the chagrin 
of the crowd, who follow it in groups of twos and threes. 

The Canada House was a two-story frame building, 
painted white, with green shutters at its numerous win- 
dows. Running the full length of the front was a broad 
porch, on which stood comfortable wooden settles, that 
were never without occupants. 

Conspicuous in front swayed the creaking sign bearing 
the announcement, — 

Entektainment for Man and Beast.” 

“Mine host” stood at the one end of the porch, deep 
in conversation with the negro driver of a wagon just in 
from his farm, whose load of chickens, turkeys, vege- 
tables, and other good things that delight the inner man 
of a true Missourian, fully verified the saying that “it 
took Farmer Canada to support Landlord Canada.” 

It is in the latter rdle that Major Ben has acquired his 
universal popularity, and, beyond doubt, his military 
title also, since he freely avowed that “he never pulled 
a trigger in his life, and never wanted to.” 

He is small, sinewy, and lithe as a cat. His thin hair, 
streaked with gray, reaches the band of his immaculate 
shirt, for a collar has not encumbered his neck since his 
wedding-day, twenty years agone. His face, clean-shaven, 
is typical of the genial, generous soul that looks out so 
merrily from his brown eyes, round the corners of which 
the crows have already begun to leave the impress of 
their time-telling feet in upward curves. As the coach 


A MAN o’ 'WAX. 


55 


clatters up and the passenger prepares to alight, the 
Major looks around for one of the several negro bo3^s 
whose duty it is to receive the guests of the house and 
attend to their demands. 

As none of them were to be seen, he lifts his voice and 
calls, “Mount Vernon! You Jackson! 0-h-h, Solomon!” 

In answer, half a dozen rows of white teeth gleaming 
in as many black faces are seen emerging from various 
shady nooks, as the “boys” — whose ages range from 
sixteen to sixty — are saying, “Yass, sah. Mars Ben, sah; 
heah we am. We come jess soon ez we heerd you; ax 
Miss Vina ef we din,” all the while grinning secretly at 
the Major’s wrath and threadbare threat of “I ’ll sell the 
last one of you down the river with McSim’s next drove.” 

By this time the passenger was coming up the steps 
with much dignity, followed by the “boys,” each carrying 
some article of his belongings. He was a portly, middle- 
aged person, with a large face and flabby cheeks. His 
long-skirted coat and baggy pants were of rusty black 
cloth. A pointed collar stood up stiffly on each side of 
his double chin, while around his neck was wound one of 
those black silk kerchiefs known as chokers. 

The downward curves of the deep lines on his face, 
and his habit of rolling his small eyes upward, as though 
lost in ecstatic meditation, gave him an appearance quite 
in keeping with his calling, for he was no less a person- 
age than Elder Josiah Berry, an expounder of the doc- 
trines of the Latter-Day Saints. 

Those of the crowd who had followed the coach waited 
very patiently for his appearance in the hotel-office, each 
eager to find out his name, his business in Waxhaw, how 
long he intended to remain, etc. Every eye, filled with 
interrogation points, was turned upon him when he 
entered the room, his rubicund face still shining from 
the effects of his recent ablution, and his damp hair 


56 


A MAN o' WAX. 


standing in a roach above his forehead like an aureola. 
It was a trying position, and one calculated to abash an 
ordinary individual, but the Reverend Josiah was made 
of ^‘sterner stuff,’’ and on this occasion fully justified the 
confidence of the convention that had chosen him for the 
delicate mission of gaining proselytes for the Mormon 
Church, — a mission fraught with danger, the Latter-Day 
Saints having recently been driven from the state by an 
angry mob. 

The Elder therefore fully understood the importance 
of producing a good impression on his first appearance. 
He skillfully hedged such of the numerous questions that 
he did not wish to answer, and his anecdotes were so 
pithy and so ably told, that when he pleaded fatigue and 
left the room, he was unanimously voted a “ doggonned 
likely fellow, considerin’ he is a preacher.” 

As time went on, however, he began to express his real 
sentiments, using great tact at first, and feeling his way, 
so to speak, as though he was stepping on theological 
eggs. A knowledge of human nature and a large endow- 
ment of animal magnetism gave him the power to hold 
his listeners, and even to draw them nearer to him. In 
vain the orthodox ministers warned their flocks against 
false prophets, and against the Evil One himself, who, 
they averred, was still, as of old, going about “like a 
roaring lion, seeking whom he might devour.” 

The Elder snapped his fingers at his opponents. “Had 
he not been ordained in the order of Melchizedec by 
God’s own high priest, Joseph Smith, and sent forth to 
preach the Word, and to call sinners to repentance? To 
make the lame to w^alk, the deaf to hear, and the blind 
to receive their sight by the laying on of hands? Yea, 
verily, did not John the Baptist, in the spirit, speak 
through him in the flesh, and thus by word of mouth 
warn sinners to flee from the wrath to come?” 


A MAN o’ WAX. 


67 


This statement was received by Major Ben with several 
grains of salt. Said he to a dozen or so idlers who were 
lounging on the wooden settees in the office, ^‘Now, I lay, 
boys, that thar Elder may be John the Baptist, fer as I 
personally know, never havin’ seen the same, but, ac- 
cordin’ ter Scripter, he ’s changed a right-smart sence he 
was on yearth befo’. Mebby he has done fur got the time 
when he went aroun’ with nothin’ on, in the way of 
close, but a leather guddle aroun’ his loins, an’ livin’ on 
low cusses an’ wile honey. I ’ve free-vittled many a 
parson, off an’ on, but, I lay, this one takes the dodger 
fer gittin’ outsiden fried chicken, waffles, hot corn-cakes, 
beat biskit, an’ sich.” 

“The Major has been watching the parson with an eye 
to the profits,” suggested one of the company, slyly. 

“The parson is one of the prophets,” put in a would-be 
wag. 

“Yes, and Major Ben is kinder laying up his fried 
chicken and corn-cakes in heaven,” said a third. 

“ Whatcher bet, boys,” said a fourth, “that the Major 
don’t turn saint, an’ begin healin’ folks by layin’ on of 
hands, hey?” 

“A right-smart chance er good-lookin’ sisters to begin 
with, I reckon, would be the indoocement,” said another. 

Teasing the Major was a favorite amusement of the 
Waxhaw “boys,” for it usually resulted in his standing 
treat. 

On this occasion he escaped their jokes by suddenly 
remembering something he wanted for “sepper,” and 
calling back to the white-aproned mulatto behind the 
bar, “Here, Toby, jess pizen them boys any way they’ll 
take it”; and in the “bo3^s” heartily, drinking, at the 
Major’s expense, bumpers of peach-and-honey, cherry 
bounce, and good old Robinson County. 


58 


A MAN 0’ WAX. 


CHAPTER X. 

“ ‘ Will you walk into my parlor?’ said the Spider to the Fly.” 

This wily, fat spider, the Reverend Josiah, did not try, 
at first, to induce the male flies into his little parlor. 
He was much too shrewd for that. His method was to 
invite all the gentle feminine flies ‘‘up his winding 
stair,’’ knowing well how soon their masculine compan- 
ions would follow. 

He said to himself, “The majority of men leave their 
religion, like their puddings, to the women, who rule 
their hearts and their purses.” 

This seemed to be the case with the average Wax- 
hawian, whose sentiments on the subject Major Ben ex- 
pressed when he said, — 

“I ain’t got no call ter be foolin’ ’bout them things. 
I leave it all to Melviny. If she says Methody, then I 
says Methody; but if she says Mormon, then Mormon 
goes. Any on ’em is good enough, I reckon, an’, I lay, if 
a man keeps up with the Ten Commands, an’ does by 
everybody as everybody does by him. Saint Peter ain’t 
agoin’ ter keep him loafin’ long outsiden the golden 
gates. No, sir! Let the women folks tend to the re- 
ligion an’ the men folks pay the parson. That ’s what I 
tells Melviny.” 

Among the first to respond to the Reverend Josiah’s 
invitation was Mrs. Dr. Carew, Agnes’s stepmother, and 
great was the consternation among the flock, whose 
leader she was, when this highly moral bell-wether made 
the leap across the chasm of public opinion, to browse 
calmly, so to speak, in theological pastures by the side 
of the Elder. The greater the sensation caused by her 
conversion, the stronger she became in faith; and that 


A MAN o’ WAX. 


59 


the world might know how highly she valued the Rev- 
erend Josiah, she soon had him domiciled in her best 
spare room, much to the disgust of Agnes. Tobias, the 
negro boy assigned him as a valet, shared this feeling, 
which found expression one day. Said he, “Miss Agnes, 
that thar preacher need n’t be puttin’ on airs an’ ’tendin’ 
lak he is quality, caze he ain’t nuffin’ but po’ white 
trash. He done got a hole in de heel of his sock dis 
minit.” 

The portly prophet, however, was in blissful ignorance 
of his valet’s opinion, and also blankly ignored the fact 
that Agnes avoided him and took but little pain to con- 
ceal her aversion, since his would-be admiring glances 
were almost unendurable. 

Notwithstanding that somewhere away down East 
there was a Mrs. Josiah Berry, and quite a cluster of 
little Berrys, this smooth-tongued prophet had fixed his 
pale eyes on Agnes, with matrimony lurking under the 
lid of one, and visions of the Doctor’s shekels under the 
other. 

True, the “ Revelation on the Eternity of the Marriage 
Covenant, including the Plurality of Wives,” had not 
been made public, although the Lord had revealed this 
command to his prophet, Joseph Smith. In his turn, he 
had made it known to a chosen few, among whom was 
his apostle, the Reverend Josiah. 

Looking forward, then, to future contingencies, he con- 
templated the time when he would confer on some fair 
young saint the honor of being sealed to one on whom 
apostolic power had been bestowed; and who so suit- 
able as this pretty little sister, with her quiet ways and 
financial prospects? 

At first Agnes thought that nothing could be harder to 
endure than his smirks and fulsome compliments, but 
when another trouble faced her, they seemed insignifi- 


60 


A MAN o' WAX. 


cant. It was with feelings of horror that she saw her 
dear old father being drawn slowly into this vortex of 
fanaticism. 

To say that one so upright, honest, and unworldly as 
Doctor Carew could be led away by such a pernicious 
doctrine, is to tell the story of hundreds of others. 

At first he had listened to the Reverend Josiah with 
his old-fashioned politeness, not gainsaying one who was 
a guest in his house; then becoming interested, he began 
to investigate the subject in connection with the Scrip- 
ture. 

Theologically, no fault could be found with the doc- 
trine, in so far that its precepts were identical with those 
of the orthodox Christian Church; the main point of 
difference being the statement that God’s revelations did 
not cease with Christ, but was continued in the persons 
of his prophets, the last being Joseph Smith, who was 
equal, in all respects, to Christ himself. 

Also, that these revelations would continue to be given 
to the world, through prophets chosen for the purpose, 
from time to time, as man’s necessities demanded new 
laws for his government. 

“You see. Doctor,” said the Elder, in his blandest 
tones, “in the world’s history, so far, there have been 
eight revelations. Beginning with the one given to 
Adam, we can easily trace them, in order, through Noah, 
Abraham, Jacob, Moses, Jesus Christ, and Joseph 
Smith.” 

“We have positive and living proof that Joseph was 
ordained a high priest after the order of Melchizedec, by 
angels clothed in radiant white, whose heads were 
adorned with golden crowns studded with gems. When 
they spoke, their voices were as musical as the harps of 
heaven, ‘Chosen prophet of the Lord,’ said they to 
Joseph. ‘Verily, into thy hands do we commit the keys 


A MAN o' WAX. 


61 


of the kingdom and the dispensation of the fullness of 
the times/ thus investing him with full authority, after 
having revealed to him the holy spot where lay the 
sacred plates on which God had inscribed His Word.’’ 

The persecution of this new sect was also a powerful 
lever to elevate it in the estimation of many gentle souls, 
who ever take the part of the weak against the strong. 

“Had not Christ been a victim of mob fury at Jerusa- 
lem, even as Joseph had suffered at Nauvoo? 

“Had not all new truths met with persecution? Wit- 
ness Copernicus, who devoted twenty-three years’ hard 
study to his new theory, hesitated thirteen more, and 
even then dared not proclaim it as a truth, but sent it 
forth as an hypothesis, preceded by an ‘ if.’ This alone 
saved him from the prison, that, later on, closed on Gali- 
leo, and from the stake at which Bruno died, for having 
had the courage to drop the all-saving conjunction. 

“So, also, with Jenner, who discovered the virtue of 
the virus, and with Morton, who first suggested anaes- 
thetics as alleviators of pain. Both were denounced as 
interfering with the designs of the Creator, who had 
made pain the penalty of Adam’s disobedience.” 

Thus the Reverend Josiah expatiated, enjoying the 
sound of his own oily voice, all the while watching from 
the corners of his pale blue eyes the Doctor’s growing 
conviction, as a great, sleek cat watches a mouse that it 
intends to devour when the time comes. 

Though lean in person. Doctor Carew was fat in purse, 
and would be a goodly pillar in the new city of Zion, 
whither the Saints were now resolved to go. Free 
thought and free speech being denied them, they deter- 
mined to seek “a lodge in some vast widerness,” and 
build for themselves a city where they could dwell in 
peace, and enjoy the blessings of consciences untram- 
meled. 


62 


A MAN o’ WAX. 


In order to do this, money was needed; therefore the 
Revelation of the Tithings had been given. 

“Verily, thus saith the Lord: I require all their sur- 
plus property to be put into the hands of the Bishops of 
Zion, for the building of My House, and for the laying 
of the foundation of Zion, and for the priesthood, and for 
the debts of the presidency of My Church. And after 
that, those who have been thus tithed shall pay one 
tenth of all their interest annually, and this shall be a 
standing law unto them forever, for my holy priesthood, 
saith the Lord.” 

Agnes protested against the sacrifice of her father’s 
ample fortune, but, under the combined influence of his 
wife and the Elder, he was like clay in the hands of the 
potter. 

If hypnotism had been understood at that time, she 
would have believed him to be its victim. As it was, 
she was almost inclined to agree with Uncle Zimri. 

One afternoon she met this faithful old servant in the 
hall. Beckoning her aside, he said in a mysterious 
whisper, “Honey, what you reckons done come ober 
Mars John? Ize jess been in de parlor wid a backlog, 
an’ while I wuz fixin’ de fiah, I done tuk a good look at 
dem all. 

“Bars Mars John sittin’ on one siden de chimbly, 
lookin’ pale an’ skeered, des lak ole mahster looked 
foren he died; an’ dar, on terr siden de chimbly, sets dat 
ole fat poppus ob a preacher, argyfyin’ ’bouten de Screp- 
ter, an’ drinkin’ apple-jack er brandy-peach ’twixt times, 
an’ dar, right atween ’em, sets Miss Cora, rockin’ in her 
cheer, an’ a-purrin’ lak a big white cat. 

“I tells you, honey, sump’n ’s gwine on in dar dat 
oughtener. Now, doan’ you git skeered. Miss Aggie; but 
jess shore ez you is bawn, yore pa has done been hoo- 
dooed. My grandaddy wuz a hoodoo dawkter, an’ he tole 


A MAN o’ WAX. 


63 


daddy an’ daddy tole me jess prezactly how to wuhk de 
chahm dat ’ll undo de hoodoo, an’ we-all ain’ got no time 
to lose, er Mars John ’ll be out dar in de seminary ’long- 
siden yore po’ ma. But we jess gutter wait tell de las’ 
quahter ob de moon. Den I ’ll ketch a toad-frawg, an’ 
put it in a raid-hot oben wid de led down fass, an’ — ” 

“Oh, Uncle Zim, surely you would not roast the poor 
little toad alive?” cried Agnes. 

“No, honey, oh no. When de led comes off, de toad is 
done daid, but it ’s got to be a-hoppin’ when I puts it in, 
or de chahm won’t wuhk. Den I takes de grease an’ 
mixes it wid de gall ob a black cat, de fat ob a white 
hen, an’ de blood ob a scritch-owl, an’ bile it all down. 
Ef I rubs dat ’intment on de soles ob Mars John’s feet 
seben times, dee can’t nobody hoodoo him. But what ez 
we all gwine to do tell I kin git dat ’intment?” 

Agnes could not laugh at the old darky’s simple faith, 
more especially as her own fears were reflected on his 
honest face; so she said, soothingly, “Never mind. Uncle 
Zim; perhaps father will be better when the weather 
grows warmer, and we may yet see him his old self 
again.” 

But she was far from feeling confidence in her words, 
and her heart was heavy with forebodings. 


64 


A MAN o’ WAX. 


CHAPTER XI. 

The weary winter dragged itself slowly away, and 
once more the lilacs began to array themselves in purple 
and white. 

Elder Berry ha^d made the most of his time. In every 
community there are many who readily yield to the in- 
fluence of a magnetic leader, and such in Waxhaw 
became easy converts of the Reverend Josiah. He did 
not suffer their enthusiasm to flag, but carried them with 
him so heartily, that they were cheerful in their sacri- 
flces, and ready to follow him whithersoever he chose to 
lead. 

They listened v/ith rapture to his descriptions of the 
New Zion, “the land flowing with milk and honey,” not 
even asking where in the vast wilderness it was to be 
found. Finally, the day of their departure thither was 
set, for Brigham Young and other leaders were already 
assembling at Council Bluffs, preparatory to the exodus. 

Agnes heard the announcement with dismay. “Oh, 
father,” she cried, “what folly, what madness is this? 
You are not strong enough to bear the journey.” 

“God will give me strength, daughter. He will care 
for me even as he cared for Elijah,” replied her father, 
devoutly. 

Agnes knelt beside him and took his thin, white hand 
in hers. “Dearest,” she said, “shake off this influence 
that has been thrown around you, and be yourself once 
more. Do not sell the old home! I was born here, 
mother died here, and every room has been sanctified by 
her presence. Do not go, father; assert yourself, and be 
master here, as in the old days.” 

Agnes spoke with such feeling, that her father regarded 


A MAN o’ WAX. 


65 


her with surprise. Was this his quiet, undemonstrative 
daughter kneeling beside him with flushed cheeks and 
shining eyes? The very strangeness of it touched him, 
and the words that would have given her the required 
promise trembled on his lips, but they were never spoken. 

At the moment Mrs. Carew was heard approaching, 
her voice preceding her, and the Doctor’s whole manner 
changed. He withdrew the hand that rested on his 
daughter’s head, averted his e3^es, and said, in helpless 
tones, must go to New Zion, Agnes, — I must go, — my 
wife wishes it.” 

Agnes turned away, heavy-hearted. There was one 
hope left, however; she would appeal to her cousin, 
Major Canada. She felt sure of him always, although 
she knew that his wife had become a proselyte to the 
Elder’s faith. He had always been a favorite with her 
father, and might succeed where she had failed. 

She found him in his big willow chair in a shady cor- 
ner of the porch, enjoying his cob pipe, and seating her- 
self close beside him, she made known her errand. 

‘‘Bless your sweet soul, honey,” he said, “my hands 
are tied. Yore cousin Melviny is jess as bad as yore pa; 
jess bound and sot on New Zion, an’ I ’ve done gone an’ 
give her her haid in the premises. This time, though, it 
ain’t so mighty contrairy to my own wishes.” 

“Oh, Cousin Ben, have you turned Mormon?” Agnes 
cried, clasping his arm so suddenly that he dropped his 
pipe. 

“Why, no; God bless you, no! Me turn Mormon? 
Now, that would be a joke! No; I jess up an’ says, 
‘ Thar won’t be no great harm done ef Ben Canady takes 
a little spurt an’ sees what’s outsiden Waxhaw.’ Why, 
Aggie, here I ’ve been these forty year, an’ never no 
furder away from the court-house than twenty-odd mile. 
Now, you can’t blame me, can you? I’ve done made 


66 


A MAN o’ WAX. 


arrangemints to rent the tavern, niggers an’ all, jess as it 
stands, to Cousin Joe Moss. I ain’t goin’ to sell the 
wrappin’s of my finger, ’cause I ’m cornin’ back to eend 
my days in Waxhaw.” 

“It is different with father. Cousin Ben,” said Agnes, 
sadly; “for he intends to sell the dear old home.” 

“Never mine, honey,” replied the Major; “jess let him 
sell it. I ’ll buy it in, an’ then leave a deed in escrow for 
you. It shall be yore wedding present. Now chirk up, 
honey; chirk up! Phil’s out thar, you know. Won’t 
his eyes bulge out like a lobster’s when he sees us drive 
up? I can see his face now when you poke yore big sun- 
bunnit outen the back eend of the wagon-kiver, an’ he 
sees yore purty face shinin’ under it!” 

“So, chirk up, Aggie,” he continued. “Me an’ you’ll 
jess go ’long with the saints for the trip, and when yore 
cousin Melviny gits to the eend of her tether, I ’ll pull 
her in. ’T ain’t hard to manage a woman, ef you jess 
know how.” 

Agnes was much comforted by this interview, and took 
her way home with a more cheerful mind than she had 
known in many a day. 

But another trouble awaited her. At the gate stood a 
wagon loaded with her black mammy’s belongings, while 
mammy herself, surrounded by her nine ebon-hued off- 
spring, stood ready to depart. 

“Why, Mammy Flo, what does this mean?” she ex- 
claimed. 

“Hit means, honey, dat Mars John’s done sole we- 
alls,” replied the woman. 

“Sold you! Oh, mammy, it can’t be!” 

“But hit is, honey. I jess foun’ hit out ’bouten two 
hours ago. Miss Cora din tell anybawdy, caze she say 
dar ain gotter be ainy carry’n’s on. She say we-alls got 
to git off foren you git home, so dar won’t be no rackit.” 


A MAN o' WAX. 


67 


“I never dreamed of this, mammy. I thought that 
you were going with us!’’ cried Agnes, and, for the first 
time since her trials began, gave way to tears. 

“Doan’ cry, honey!” coaxed the tender-hearted mammy, 
her own eyes streaming; “’tain’t as if we-all wuz gwine 
outen de famhly. Miss Betty ’s done bawt us, an’ when 
you an’ Mars Phil gets married, you kin buy us all back.” 

“All aboard!” the driver calls out sharply; so mammy 
gives her young mistress a last hug, and having stowed 
her nine among her household gods, mounts beside the 
driver, and all move off. 

Then Agnes realizes that it is useless to resist the in- 
evitable, and offers no further opposition to her step- 
mother’s plans. 

A few weeks later, one bright June morning, a dozen 
covered wagons, some drawn by oxen, others by horses 
or mules, rolled out of Waxhaw, headed towards Council 
Bluffs. Almost the entire population had gathered to 
see them start, some giving cheers and good-wishes, while 
others shook their heads, with doleful predictions as to 
the results of such a wild-goose chase. 

But the Elder was jubilant, and his followers saw only 
the picture he had drawn, “A land flowing with milk and 
honey, and a city paved with gold”; so they set forth 
with undaunted hearts. 

When they reached the Bluffs, they found a large 
number of enthusiastic Saints in camp, impatiently 
awaiting the signal of departure. 

Brigham and his apostles had appealed to the govern- 
ment for aid, but the answer had been disappointing in 
the extreme. However, there seemed no alternative but 
to submit to the instructions received from General 
Kearny, that five hundred Mormons would be received 
as volunteers in the United States army, for service in 
California, and organize the battalion, and by July 20th 


68 


A MAN WAX. 


they began their westward march, under the command of 
Captain James Allen. 

Friends and families of the battalion accompanied it. 
There were all kinds of vehicles, drawn by horses, mules, 
or oxen. There were women who trudged all day along 
the dusty trails, bearing their infants in their arms, or 
drawing a hand-cart on which sat some aged or feeble 
relative. There were children, too, and men on foot or on 
horseback, all forming a strange procession, mighty in 
its inherent zeal, and strong with the strength of fanati- 
cism, w^hich endows its victims with powers of endurance 
worthy the gods. 

Mighty and strong it was, yet oh! how infinitesimally 
small it appeared in the midst of the immensity of these 
unpeopled solitudes! the treeless distances of these limit- 
less brown plains! 

Major Ben’s unflagging good humor cheered many a 
weary hour of the way, and his ever-admiring wife did 
not grudge him her meed of praise. 

Thar ’s nothin’ like this kind of a trip to show what 
a body is, Ben. I never knowed you befo’.” 

“Nor me, you, Melviny; you ’re lots better ’n I thought 
you was. Then, on t’ other hand, thar ’s fokes who did 
n’t know thar was a wolf in thar selfish hahts, until it 
jumped outen hit’s sheep’s clothin’ an’ showed its brazen 
face.” 

“Cora Carew, for instance,” suggested his wife. 

“Shucks! Melviny; I always knowed what she was. 
Look how she treats Agnes,” said the Major, his face 
flushing wrathfully. 

“Yes; it makes me fairly bile over, speshully when I 
think what an angel sweet Agnes is.” 

“Angel!” replied the Major. “Shucks! Agnes is bet- 
ter ’n any angel. They jess stan’ ’round an’ fan their- 
selves with their wings, but Agnes takes right holt. Look 


A MAN o’ WAX. 


69 


at our Bennie thar, with cheeks like Missouri winesaps; 
whar ’d he be now ef it had n’t been for Agnes nussing 
him, — an’ us, too, for that matter, — through that spell 
of fever. Don’t talk about angels, Melviny!” 

Agnes indeed had endeared herself to every one. 
Always cheerful, always ready to lend a helping hand, a 
companion to both old and young, she appeared to some 
like the guardian angel of the train. 

And she herself was often surprised at her powers of 
endurance and her cheerfulness; yet deep in her heart 
she knew it was because each day brought her nearer to 
Philip. 

To her, he was all that New Zion was to her compan- 
ions, — her refuge, her sanctuary, the Mecca toward 
which every hope of her being turned. 


70 


A MAN o' WAX. 


CHAPTER XII. 

Doctor Carew bore the hardships of the tedious jour- 
ney without complaint, although he aged greatly, and 
daily became more feeble. Agnes trembled lest he 
should fall under the notice of one Sanderson, a quack 
who accompanied the train as its physician. Few of his 
patients could long survive his doses of arsenic and calo- 
mel. 

On the other hand, there was the Reverend Josiah, 
who healed a favored few by anointing them with oil 
and laying on his apostolic hands. This, at least, could 
do no harm, and her daily prayer was that her father 
might live to reach Santa Fe, at which place she hoped 
to find a skillful physician. 

At length, on the 12th of October, the train camped in 
the suburbs of the quaint old Spanish city. 

All was excitement. Men shook one another's hands, 
women embraced and wept, while on all sides were 
prayers and hymns of thanksgiving to the Lord, who 
had guided them safely through so many perils. 

All this was accompanied by the booming of a hun- 
dred guns fired at intervals from the fort, by order of 
General Doniphan. 

During this confusion Agnes slipped quietly away, 
determined to find medical help for her father, if possi- 
ble. 

One could scarcely believe that the quaint little fig- 
ure, flitting along the road leading into the town, was the 
same dainty maiden who had waited beneath the lilacs 
for her lover. From beneath her sunbonnet, her tanned 
face looked careworn and haggard. The long waist of 
her cotton dress fitted her loosely, and was fastened 


A MAN o’ WAX. 


71 


down the back by large horn buttons. To this waist 
was gathered a skimp skirt that reached only to the tops 
of her stout leather shoes. 

This costume was a part of the Mormon woman’s re- 
ligion, and Mrs. Carew had insisted that Agnes should 
adopt it, being careful, however, to avoid it herself. 

As Agnes entered the town, the sun was setting, and 
black clouds fast gathering in the north. Everything 
was new and strange. The low adobe houses, with their 
small, grated windows and tiled roofs, appeared weird 
and wicked. She hastened to the plaza, and looked on 
every side for a sign that would guide her, but saw none. 
Some scantily clad, dusky boys were playing near. 

‘‘Will you tell me where to find a doctor?” she in- 
quired. 

But their answer came in words that were meaning- 
less to her, and they scampered away. 

Then sadly she turned back to the camp, yet hoping 
that the morrow would bring her better luck. 

As the camp-fires on the hillside, glowing like the eyes 
of a grim Cerberus, came in sight, a little sigh of relief 
escaped her lips and she quickened her pace, for dark- 
ness had already set in, and her fancy began to picture 
a hundred unseen terrors. 

Suddenly from a black mass of manzanita a shadow 
detached itself, and stood directly in her path, causing 
her to shrink back with a little cry of alarm. But in- 
stantly the soft voice of Uncle Zimri reassured her. 
“Doan’ be skeered, honey,” he said. “Ize been watchin’ 
for you, caze you better hurry up an’ see about yore pa. 
I reckons dee is conjurin’ him now. I see Miss Cora go 
inter de tent wid de preacher an’ dat Sanderson — ” 

“Sanderson!” cried Agnes in alarm, and waiting to 
hear no more, ran swiftly toward her father’s tent, leav- 
ing Uncle Zimri far behind lamenting “de rhumatiz in 
dat hine laig,” and his inability to help his master. 


72 


A MAN o’ WAX. 


The ruddy tongues of flame from a pile of blazing 
pine-knots threw into bold relief a dark figure against 
the white canvas, and Agnes recognized the dreaded 
quack, who stood contemplating his iron spoon with a 
grin of malicious delight. 

He looked up at her approach, and by the wicked 
light in his eyes Agnes knew she was too late. 

“How dare you!” she said with flashing eyes. “Have 
you not marked our road with graves enough, with- 
out — ” 

“Agnes!” It was the voice of her stepmother. “Is it 
possible that you are meddling with any arrangements I 
choose to make for my husband? Go to your wagon, 
and to bed, impertinent miss!” 

To Mrs. Carew’s surprise the worm had turned. Ag- 
nes looked defiantly into the cold blue eyes, the round 
blond face with its bland smile showing the gold filling 
in her front teeth, and said very resolutely, “Madam, he 
was my father before he was your husband, and I shall 
not permit that wretch to enter his tent again.” 

“Indeed!” replied the stepmother. “And how do you 
propose to prevent it?” 

“I shall appeal to General Doniphan; once he was 
father’s friend, and I know — ” 

At this moment the Reverend Josiah came out of the 
tent. 

“He is resting nicely, Sister Carew; so we may as 
well go to meeting and soothe our souls with the balm of 
Brother Pettigrew’s blessed words of grace.” 

“Yes, dear brother, let us go; for I stand in need of 
spiritual comfort. The Lord alone knoweth why he 
has placed a thorn in my flesh,” with a meaning look 
at Agnes. 

“Whom the Lord loveth, he chasteneth, dear sister,” 
replied the Elder, as, followed by Sanderson, they moved 
away. 


A MAN o' WAX. 


73 


“Oh, you whited sepulchers!’’ said Agnes. “Oh, if I 
only had the power, I — I — ” 

Then, like oil upon troubled waters. Major Ben’s soft 
voice fell upon her perturbed soul. “All alone, honey? 
And how ’s yore pa? Hope he — Why, Agnesi what is 
it, pet?” 

“Oh, Cousin Ben!” 

That cry, coming from the depths of her troubled soul, 
and the tears that followed, as the curly head rested on 
the Major’s shoulder, brought his own red bandanna 
into use, from sheer sympathy with her sorrow, yet un- 
known to him. When he found how matters stood, he 
was filled with wrath, but he only said, soothingly, as he 
smoothed her hair with his small, freckled hand, “Never 
mind, honey. Don’t you fret any mo’; Cousin Ben ’ll 
promus’ you that Sanderson won’t fool aroun’ this tent 
ag’in soon. You jess go to bed, and Zim will sleep across 
the tent dore, an’, I lay, nobody will go in. You heah, 
Zimri?” 

“Yas, suh. Mars Ben. Ole Zim ain’t gwine to leglect 
Mars John.” 

“I knows it, Zim; I knows it,” replied the Major. 
“ Good night, Agnes, an’ go right to bed, honey. Cousin 
Ben will be back pretty soon, an’ set up the rest of the 
night.” And the Major moved softly away. 

Agnes stood silently Tvatching the dancing shadows 
thrown upon the canvas by the flickering flames. 
Near-by she heard the little stream falling over the 
rocks, like tinkling cymbals. From afar came the 
voices of the congregation in the meeting-tent, rising and 
falling in the closing hymn. The Elder and her step- 
mother would soon return. She felt that she could not 
meet them again that night, at least; so she would take 
a look at her father and then retire. The flickering light 
of a tallow-dip fell on his thin face, now pale as death. 


74 


A MAN o' WAX. 


She scarcely dared to breathe, for fear of disturbing a 
slumber so calm and childlike. But the wan hands 
folded across his breast, over which lay the long, white 
beard, the look of heavenly peace upon his face, that so 
often of late had been drawn with pain, produced a 
strange impression upon her. 

‘‘Father,’’ she murmured, as she touched his hand. 
“0 God! it is icy cold! Father! father!” 

But no answer came from lips that would never speak 
in mortal tongue again. Her father was dead. 

Fortunately there are limits to human endurance. 
Her overtaxed nature gave way under this blow% and 
for a time, at least, Agnes found temporary surcease 
from sorrow in oblivion. And for many days thereafter, 
the present, the past, and the future, the living and the 
dead, were as one to her. 

When Major Canada reached Sanderson’s camp, he 
found that worthy still absent at “meeting”; so, like 
another Dame O’Shanter, he sat down before the fire, 
and “nursed his wrath, to keep it v/arm.” 

His meditations were soon interrupted by a nasal 
voice, saying, “Wal, Majer, and heow dew you dew? 
Guess ye must be ailin’, or you would n’t be here this 
time o’ night. A little dose o’ — ” 

“ Hole on thar, Sanderson,” interrupted the irate 
Major. “You’ve dealt out enough of yore pizen for one 
day, an’, I lay, if ever I see or heah tell o’ you bein’ 
roun’ Doctor Carew’s camp again, you’ll njeed a little 
dose yourself, an’ a nuss, too, in the bargin. You heah 
me, don’t you?” 

Sanderson measured the Major’s size, and jumped to 
the conclusion that so small a man would not dare pit 
his strength against such odds, and became bold in pro- 
portion. 

“Threatening me, hey?” he said. Then, imitating 


A MAN o’ WAX. 


75 


Major Ben’s voice and manner, continued, ‘‘You heah 
me, don’t you? I lay, that if you don’t take yoreself 
offen these heah premises, you ’ll cool yoreself in the 
guard-house till mawnin’.” 

The Major simply smiled, — a habit of his when angry, 
that Sanderson did not know, — so, becoming more em- 
boldened, he advanced towards Major Ben, saying, 
“Maybe you want me to show you which way to go. 
Maybe — ” 

But he did not finish the sentence. The little Major 
sprang upon him so suddenly, and dealt such vigorous 
and well-timed blows, that his next words were cries for 
mercy. 

“Oh, you need n’t be skeered,” said the Major. “I 
ain’t never killed a critter yit, an’ I don’t want to; but 
don’t you take any mo’ chances with me by foolin’ 
’round Doctor Carew’s camp. You heah mg.” 

Here the drawling voice of the Reverend Josiah inter- 
rupted. “ What ’s to do now, hey?” 

Major Ben released the prostrate Doctor, and rose. 
“Got anything to say against the proceedings, parson?” 
he asked, quietly smiling. 

“Oh,” ejaculated the Elder; “it’s the grammarian, 
hey?” 

This sent the Major’s blood up to 212° F. “Looky 
heah, Josiah; don’t you call me a gray mareon! I ’m a 
Missourian, corn- fed an’ raised in a pen! Mebby I 
kyant heft a barr’l o’ apple-sass ner pail a keow like 
you Yanks, but I ’m right smart at layin’ hands on par- 
sons. That’s my speshulty; so take off your long-tail 
coat an’ come on! Saint or sinner, it’s all one to Ben 
Canada this night.” 

But the Elder, murmuring that he “ had n’t ought to 
set a demoralizing example to the camp,” sneaked away, 
and the Major had to forego the pleasure of an en- 
counter. 


76 


A MAN o’ WAX. 


For many days Agnes hovered on the border line be- 
tween the here and the hereafter, and Mrs. Carew, glad 
to be rid of her now useless stepdaughter, readily ac- 
quiesced in the proposal of her cousins to take charge of 
her. Under their tender care, Agnes at last slowly took 
up again the feeble thread of her life. 

They continued their journey, going southward along 
the Rio Grande, but many were worn out by the hard- 
ships of the journey, and their enthusiasm had waned; 
so when the Captain decided to send back those who en- 
cumbered the train, and gave all who wished to return 
permission to do so, a number determined to join their 
brethren at Salt Lake. Among the first to depart was 
Mrs. Carew, accompanied by the Elder. 

As the carriage which bore this well-matched pair 
rolled away. Uncle Zimri fell on his knees and caught 
the Major’s small, freckled hand between his black 
palms. “Oh, Mars Ben,” he said, “I thank de Lawd 
dat you-all done baught ole Zim! I thank de Lawd dat 
I doan have to go back wid dem white folks!” 

“Yes, Zim,” said the Major, in his soft voice; “an’ 
while you air about it, jess thank Him that you ain’t a 
Mormon, an’ that you don’t have to purtend to be one, 
nuther. Thank the Lawd for that Tenth Article of 
theirs. It makes ’em let the Injuns in, but it bars you 
out. That’s because you air a nigger, Zimri, — a de- 
scendant o’ Cain; though I allers allowed that Ham 
was the man to blame for it. But it don’t mattah, jess 
so as you air let out. Jess keep a still tongue, ole boy. 
You an’ me ’ll jess lay low till we gits to Californy; then 
may the divil fly away with the Saints!” 

Only five women — the wives and families of the offi- 
cers — continued their journey. As Major Ben held a 
petty office, it was Agnes’s fate to go on. It would have 
broken her heart to return. 


A MAN o’ WAX. 


77 


“I’m mighty glad that little Agnes belongs to us, 
Ben,” said Cousin Melvina. “ She would n’t have lived 
a week ef she ’d had to go back with Cora Carew and the 
Elder. Why, that dear girl ain’t got no hold on life but 
in the thought of finding Phil Bee at the end o’ the trip. 
I never see anything like it. I ’m shore I war n’t never 
so sot on you.” 

“ Reckon you mought er been ef I had been at t’ other 
eend o’ the world, Melviny; an’ as to Aggie, you jess 
keep her courage up,” said the Major; “for if Phil Bee ’s 
in Californy, me an’ Zim will fine him. Agnes has done 
sot her haht on him; though, fur as I’m concerned, I 
can’t see why. If I had a hive o’ wax an’ a dryin’ day, 
I could make her a better man.” 

Having been relieved of its drawbacks, the battalion 
continued its march without interruption, and the day 
after Christmas reached the Gila. Still it did not pause. 
Across the bleak Colorado desert it toiled, then upward 
over the range that divides the great, glittering expanse 
of sand from its bewitching neighbor, California. 

It halted on the summit, so that the weary pilgrims 
might feast their eyes on the shifting lights and shadows, 
on soft, smiling valleys, somber hills, and snow-capped 
mountains that seemed floating on a sea of clouds. 

On the north rose the white peaks of old Grayback 
and San Jacinto, while far to the south stretched the 
long Bernardino range, shadowy with pines and oaks, 
and losing itself amid the mists of Mexico. 

On January 21st they reached Warner’s ranch, — a 
vast hill-inclosed highland valley. Here lay thousands 
of acres of rolling upland, twenty-five hundred feet above 
the sea, yet, as early as January, beginning to be clothed 
in the tender green of alfilerilla, burr-clover, and other 
grasses. 

Here, then, was California. 


78 


A MAN o’ WAX. 


To reach this Mecca, what sacrifices had been made! 
what hardships endured! 

They left the pleasant spot with regret, but being in 
the service of Uncle Sam, they must obey his orders. 
Therefore they took up their line of march toward the 
southwest, since San Diego was their destination. 


A MAN o’ WAX. 


79 


CHAPTER XIIL 

“Love is merely a madness, and deserves as well a dark house and a 
whip as madmen do.”— Shakespeare. 

On January 29, 1847, the Mormon train camped in the 
suburbs of the quaint old Spanish town of San Diego. 

That night, after Agnes had gone to bed and lay 
dreaming, no doubt, of Philip, Major Canada and his 
wife sat by their fire, talking over the past and planning 
for the future. 

‘‘Well, Ben,’’ said she, with a happy sigh, “here we 
air at our journey’s end. The war in Californy is over, 
I reckon; so we might as well settle down here as any- 
where. ’Pears to be mighty fine weather for the time of 
year, an’ they say it lasts right along.” 

“Yes, Melviny,” replied the Major; “I done made up 
my mine to drive my stakes in this section, providin’ you 
was agreeable to the idee. I ’ll jess git a big track 
of land, an’ settle down and live. Look at them ole 
Dons! They never do a lick of wuhk, no more ’n a king. 
They jess lay aroun’, smokin’, or drinkin’ mescal, while 
the Injuns tend their cattle, — thousands of head, an> 
their hides alone wuth two dollars apiece. It beats 
keepin’ tavern in Waxhaw. Then, I reckon, Agnes an’ 
Phil ’ll be gittin’ married, an’ I hev been thinkin’ thet 
you ’ll be mighty lonesome without her, away out on the 
grant, Melviny.” 

“Well, yes, Ben; I reckon ’t would be mighty lone- 
some for me, ’speshully at fust,” agreed the unsuspecting 
wife. 

The Major looked thoughtfully into the smoldering 
sage-brush fire, and then, with a sly wink at Zimri, who 
sat on the opposite side smoking his Missouri cob, he 


80 


A MAN WAX. 


said, suddenly, “Melviny, whar ’s thet shirt-collar I was 
married in?’’ 

“Why, the idee, Ben Canada! What ever made you 
think of that old collar?” 

“’Cause — er, well — er — it ’peers to me that — er — it 
might be a good idee — as long as you air goin’to be so 
lonesome out there on the grant — ’peers to me — that it 
mought be a good idee for me to — git sealed.^^ 

Git — what!” cried Mrs. Canada, springing to her 
feet, and looking down at her lord in astonishment. 
“Git what did you say, Benjamin Canada?” 

“Sealed, Melviny, — sealed; ain’t thet what you Mor- 
mons call it? Git me another — ” The Major hesitated, 
since he shrank from profaning the sacred name of wife; 
so he said, “another woman, — a youngish woman I 
reckon will be best. You kin keep right on doin’ 
the cookin’ and sich, Melviny; ’cause you can cook to 
suit me better than a new hand, an’ she — ” 

“ Looky heah, Ben Canada; there ain’t goin’ to be any 
shes ’roun’ my premises; I can tell you that, right now; 
an’, what ’s more, ef ever I ketch you settin’ up to a 
female, or makin’ sheep’s-e3^es — ” 

Here Mrs. Canada’s feelings overcame her, and, hiding 
her sweet, homely face in her gingham apron, she began 
to sob. 

This, of course, put a quietus on the Major’s teasing, 
and he turned his attention towards restoring calm, al- 
though, by way of extenuation, he added, “But, Melviny 
dear, you air a Mormon, ain’t you?” 

“No, I ain’t! I despise the very name!” said she, 
emphasizing her assertions with a stamp of her foot. 
“I’m a Methodist, dyed in the wool; so there, now!” and 
she resolutely wiped away her tears. 

“Melviny, you’re a brick, sho’! Ain’t she a brick, 
Zim? Heah, honey, shake, shake, an’ we ’ll call it 


A MAN o’ WAX. 


81 


square, an’, what ’s mo’, we jess lite outen this heah nest 
o’ hypocrites for Yerba Buena befo’ the week ’s out.” 

“A week, Ben!” said his wife; “I say let’s go day 
after to-morrow mawnin’. You jess square up with the 
Captain, and we won’t lose no time foolin’ ’roun’ heah; 
an’ if things don’t run without hitchin’, we ’ll jess ship 
for ole Mizzoury.” 

The next afternoon, the Major came into camp, well 
pleased that his plans for their departure north were 
made, and, after an early supper, suggested that they 
accept an invitation to a fandango at the Bandini resi- 
dence. 

“ We shorely oughter see something of the way they do 
things up in theso parts, gyurls,” he said to his wife and 
Agnes; ^‘so put on your best bib and tucker, an’ let ’s 
go up.” 

“But what will we wear?” asked Agnes, glancing at 
her travel- worn garments. 

“ Oh, I reckon we can fix that,” said Cousin Melviny. 
“My black bumbazine is good as new, an’ I know jess 
whar to lay my hands on yore white nainsook. You can 
wear your long cape over it, you know.” 

“Well, let ’s hustle,” said the Major. “Here, Zim, git 
out yore banjo an’ my old fiddle. We’ll just give ’em 
^ Turkey in de Straw,’ an’ ‘ The Arkansas Traveler,’ an’ 
mebby ‘The Devil’s Dream.’” 

“No, you won’t, Ben Canada,” said his wife. “If you 
an’ Uncle Zim air goin’ to the fandango to show off, jess 
go along by yoreselves; Agnes an’ me ’ll stay heah.” 

Of course the Major was overruled, and Bandini’s 
guests never dreamed of the musical treat they had lost. 

When they reached the house, the festivities were well 
under way; so that their entrance was scarcely observed, 
the attention of every one being centered on the sixteen 
couples who were dancing the lively jota amid clapping 
of hands and lively songs. 


82 


A MAN o’ WAX. 


Our Missourians had never seen anything to compare 
with these people in their picturesque costumes, cut in a 
fashion so strange. It seemed as though they had 
stepped across the chasm of a century. However, the 
uniforms of Uncle Sam’s officers gave the scene the mod- 
ern touch needed to complete the picture, as also did the 
homespun suit of Major Canada, whose enjoyment was 
manifested in various ways. 

“ It ’s prime, Melviny, prime,” he said, after having 
joined in the applause vigorously; “but I ’ve saw as good 
in ole Mizzoury. Next set, let ’s me an’ you jine in an’ 
show ’em how to cut the pigeon- wing, an’ then Zim can 
pat juba for ’em. That’ll open their eyes, I reckon!” 

As he joyously devised plans for the, entertainment for 
Bandini’s guests, he looked for approval into his wife’s 
eyes, when all hopes of pigeon-wings and juba vanished 
into thin air. 

Presently a buzz of admiration was heard, and all eyes 
turned towards a couple who took their places ready to 
dance the fandango. 

Ysidora had never appeared more charming than at 
this moment. She wore a pale-blue satin dress, bro- 
caded with silver threads. It hung in shimmering folds, 
and was just long enough to clear the tops of her satin 
shoes. The pointed bodice, cut low, left bare her arms 
and shoulders, which were like ivory. Her dark hair, 
combed low over her ears, was coiled around her shapely 
head in a braided coronet, and held in place by jeweled 
combs, one of which, taller than the rest, confined a 
filmy white reboso, — an article of dress that only a 
Castilian knows how to wear. The one dash of color 
needed to make this costume perfect was the bunch of 
Agripina roses worn at her belt. 

As she stands waiting to begin the dance, her head 
slightly poised on one side, her ample skirts held lightly 


A MAN o’ WAX. 


83 


out with both hands, displaying her pretty feet and 
ankles, let us glance at her partner. 

His costume is no less striking than hers. His broad- 
brimmed hat, brightened by gilt ornaments, is set 
jauntily on the back of his head. His short, round 
jacket of purple velvet is faced with yellow satin and 
ornamented with gilt buttons. His vest is handsomely 
embroidered with cherry and gold. His wide velvet 
breeches are slashed on the outside of the leg, and orna- 
mented with gilt buttons, while a cherry-red sash around 
his waist falls gracefully in folds to the knee. 

As these two bright creatures moved through the forms 
of this most pleasing dance, keeping time with castanets 
and the unstudied movements of hands and arms, the 
spectators applauded loudly, and cries of “Buena! buena! 
Las mariposas!” were heard on all sides. 

And well might they have been called “the butter- 
flies,” so gaudy were their colors, so airy their move- 
ments. 

When the music ceased, some one gave the signal, 
Bombo, at which one of the dancers was expected to sing. 

All eyes were turned on the senor, who should, by 
right, take the initiative. Unfortunately, the song re- 
hearsed for the occasion had taken wings; so the first 
one thought of was substituted, — suggested, no doubt, 
by the lady’s red roses. 

“ O, gin my love were yon red rose, 

That grows upon the castle wall, 

And I, myseP, a drop o’ dew. 

Into her bonny breast to fall,” etc. 

The old song is familiar to every one. 

As it proceeded, the clear baritone filling the room 
with its perfect harmony, Agnes became more and more 
perplexed. 


84 


A MAN o’ WAX. 


What was there about this dancer so strangely fa- 
miliar? He was fair, for a Spaniard, yet not more so 
than the blue-eyed Captain Pedorena, a pure Castilian, 
who stood near him. 

“Where had she seen that winning smile, that roguish 
glance of mirth and mischief, that debonair manner?” 

The music recommences, the dance is resumed, but 
Agnes neither sees nor hears the things around her. She 
is back in old Missouri, waiting among the lilacs for her 
lover, and through her brain dim echoes of the old song 
are faintly throbbing. 

‘‘0, were my love yon lilac fair, 

Wi’ purple blossoms in the spring. 

And I a bird to shelter there, 

When wearied on my little wing,^’ etc., etc. 

Cousin Melvina, noticing her pale cheeks and drooping 
form, reproached herself for bringing the poor child too 
soon amid such exciting scenes. “I might of knowed 
better,” she said to herself. “I ’ll jess git her out on the 
porch, in the fraish air, an’ as soon as Ben will go, we-all 
will make for the camp.” 

So thinking, she slipped her strong arm around the 
girl’s slender waist, and passed out onto the broad 
veranda. She found a sheltered seat at the far end, be- 
neath a trellis of blooming roses, and the broad, drooping 
leaves of a large banana tree. 

“How sweet these flowers do smell,” she said, as she 
drew Agnes’s dark cape around the girl’s slender form. 
“Now you jess set here, honey,” she continued, after 
making her charge comfortable; “an’ I go in an’ git Ben, 
an’ purty soon we will go. Ben’s in his illimint in 
there, watchin’ them curious critters cuttin’ capers, but 
I ’ll have him here in no time.” 

“Don’t hurry him, cousin dear,” said Agnes. “It is 


A MAN o’ WAX. 


85 


restful here in this sweet-scented corner, and I can wait 
until he is ready.” 

She was glad to be left alone for a while with her own 
thoughts, and sat there enjoying the fragrant air, watch- 
ing the glittering stars above her, and listening to the 
sounds of revelry that came from within, yet thinking, 
air the while, of the dancer and the song that had so 
strangely agitated her. 

She did not recognize him as Philip, for never in all 
her dreams had she pictured him in such an attire nor 
amid such surroundings, yet never since her parting with 
him had he seemed to be so near her as to-night. 

“Can it be that he is near me, and that I shall soon 
see him?” her heart whispers, beating faster at the 
thought. 

Some one coming down the long veranda causes her to 
look in that direction. Ah, it is the gay fandango- 
dancer and his pretty partner. She is leaning on his 
arm and looking archly up into his handsome face, that 
is bent low to catch her words. They pause not far from 
her, beneath a light that is flaring from a post in the 
court. This house, like other Spanish houses, was built 
around three sides of a spacious court, the fourth side 
opening into a garden, or park. 

Their words reach Agnes with startling distinctness. 

“Promise you not to waltz again with Lieutenant 
Gillespie? Why, he is the best waltzer in the room! 
How very disagreeable you can be, Senor Philip; a per- 
fect Othello.” 

As Philip’s name fell from Ysidora’s lips, Agnes looked 
more closely at the gay cavalier, and as the light flared 
full upon his face, she recognized Philip Bee. Was it, 
could it be, her Philip’s voice that she heard? 

“Yes, Ysidora mia; I confess to being jealous. There 
is no true love, without jealousy.” 


86 


A MAN o’ WAX. 


Ysidora’s merry laugh rang out upon the air. “What 
a jolly sentiment! and what a lively time true lovers 
must have, ogling each other with their yellow eyes! I 
must try writing some rhymes to Jaundiced Jealousy, if 
I can imagine how one feels when obsessed by such a 
devil.” 

“Oh, come now, sehorita,” said Philip, a little piqued; 
“confess the truth; were you never the least bit jealous 
of me?” 

“The idea, Sehor Self-conceit!” she replied, scornfully. 

“Not even when I was the fair Lucia’s most devoted?” 
he continued. 

“No, sir! not even then, I do assure you, and not even 
of Agnes!” said she, triumphantly, noting the start of 
surprise he gave at the name. But, quickly recovering, 
he asked, “What do you know of Agnes?” 

“ I know that you wear a watch-charm with her name 
engraved on it. How long could I wear a talisman bear- 
ing the name of Archie, before you would ask me twenty 
questions about it? Now, / have never asked you to tell 
me who Agnes is. Of course, I have no right to ask, 
but I will; so tell me truly, who is Agnes?” 

If Philip had been the proper kind of a hero, he would 
have told her, then and there, all about his little Mis- 
souri sweetheart. Instead of doing so, however, he said, 
with affected carelessness, “Agnes? O, Agnes is a little 
sister of mine away back East. You need not be jealous 
of her!^^ 

But Ysidora determined to test the truth of his words, 
and said, “Philip, I have a fancy for that pretty charm. 
This is my birthday — give it to me.” 

It cost him a momentary pang to part with it, but, 
under the enchantment of those dark, languishing eyes, 
how could he hesitate? When a man is infatuated, as 
Philip was, he is not really responsible. 


A MAN o’ WAX. 


87 


Of course the charm was given to Ysidora, who ac- 
cepted it with one of her most winning smiles; then, arm 
in arm, they disappeared among the dense foliage of the 
garden beyond. 

As Agnes sat there, like one in a dream, staring at the 
spot where they had been standing, she saw a tiny gleam 
of gold form itself against the dark earth. It was the 
little charm that Philip had promised to wear, so lightly 
parted with to one who prized it not. 

Agnes picked it up, then hastened towards the ball- 
room, hoping to find her friends and leave the place be- 
fore Philip should know of her presence there. Fortu- 
nately, she met her cousin Melvina coming to say that 
they were ready to go. 

“Why, Aggie dear, what ails you? You look like a 
ghost!” cried her cousin, in alarm, as she lovingly put a 
supporting arm around the drooping girl. 

“Cousin, I have seen Philip. Do not say another 
word now. If you love me, take me away quickly, and, 
later, — I will tell you all.” 

Mrs. Canada’s womanly instinct divined how Agnes 
suffered, and as they walked to the camp she spoke no 
words of comfort, yet her encircling arm was eloquent in 
its silent sympathy. 

Long after the Major was in the land of dreams, the 
two women sat talking, for neither could think of sleep. 
In her first flush of indignation. Cousin Melvina wanted 
to arouse her husband and send him forthwith to call 
this recreant lover to account. At length, however, she 
became calmer, and even gave a reluctant consent to say 
nothing to her husband until they were well on their 
journey, if at all. 

“But it does beat all how you take it, Agnes,” she 
said. “You’re jess a riddle to me, an’ I never did guess 
a riddle in my life. Why, ’f it had er been me, I ’d er jess 


88 


A MAN o' WAX. 


walked right up an’ er faced ’em both, an’ er tole ’em 
what WAS 

“Here you’ve been jess livin’ for Phil Bee, — jess had 
yore heart sot on him as if he was one of them idols, an’ 
you no better ’n a heathen, an’ then to think that he 
ain’t any stiddier than if he was made o’ wax. Then 
when you fine it out, you don’t ’pear mad, — you don’t 
even cry. Why, honey, I ’d howl ef Ben was to treat me 
that way. Yes, you air a riddle, Aggie, that I can’t 
read.” 

“Then do not try, dearest,” said Agnes; “for truly I 
cannot read myself. I feel as though I had died to- 
night, and that it will be my ghost who will take up life 
to-morrow.” 

“It’s a heavy cross to bear, Aggie darling,” said her 
cousin, softly. 

“Yes, but other women have staggered along the same 
desolate path as heavily laden as I, and have walked 
alone to the end, while I have you and Cousin Ben to 
comfort me. I thank God for that, dearest. I am not 
all bereft,” said Agnes. 

Two days later, as they jogged along northward, Agnes 
being out of the wagon for a walk up a hill, Mrs. Canada 
said, “Ben, guess who that pretty, wax-faced man was 
who danced with the blue-satin girl that night at the 
Spanish ball.” 

“How should I know, Melvina? He ain’t nuthin’ to 
me,” replied the Major. 

“Well, you ought to know,” said she, “’cause he is a 
Waxhaw man. That was Phil Bee. 

“Aggie heered him makin’ love to his blue angel, an’ 
she has done give him up; so you be shore an’ don’t say 
anything to her about him.” 

Even as she was speaking. Major Ben began to turn 
his horses’ heads southward. 


A MAN o’ WAX. 


89 


“What air you turnin’ aroun’ for?” asked Mrs. 
Canada. 

“I’m goin’ straight back to Sandy Ago,” replied the 
Major, while a look of grim determination settled in the 
lines around his mouth. 

His wife grasped the reins and brought the horses to a 
standstill. 

“Air you plum crazy, Ben Canada?” she cried. 
“We’ve done left Sandy Ago; we ain’t got no use for 
that old town.” 

“I’m goin’ back to settle with that villyun, Melviny. 
He sha’n’t tromple on the feelin’s of my little gyurl. 
Come, jump in, Aggie,” — at that moment she came up to 
the wagon — “jump in, an’ we’ll jess go back an’ show 
Phil Bee—” 

“We will do nothing of the kind, Cousin Ben. If you 
love me, — and I know you do, — you will go straight on 
to Yerba Buena, and talk no more about settling with 
any one,” said Agnes, as she climbed upon the seat be- 
side him, and, taking the lines, started the team north- 
ward again. 

The Major rode for some time in silence, puffing at the 
Missouri cob. At last, as though unable to solve the 
perplexing problem of a woman’s heart, he said, very 
softly, “Agnes — ” 

“Yes, cousin.” 

“Don’t you keer?” 

“Yes, cousin.” 

“Then why — ” But Mrs. Canada’s admonitory kicks, 
and, as a last resort, her foot planted firmly on her hus- 
band’s pet corn, gave him, for the moment, other food for 
thought, and a curtain lecture, at the first opportunity, 
effectually silenced him on the subject. 

It was May before they reached a cluster of houses 
near the low, curving beach known as Yerba Buena, but 


90 


A MAN o’ WAX. 


just beginning to be called San Francisco, after the bay 
and the presidio. 

Nothing could have been more desolate than the low, 
wind-swept peninsula, over which, even in this lovely 
spring month, clouds of sand were whirled, and the cold 
ocean fog crept in, sending the travelers, shivering, in 
search of warmth. They pitched their tent on a steep 
hillside to the north, — now Telegraph Hill, — or perhaps 
it would be more correct to say that they erected their 
residence there, since it was a typical one of the time, 
being constructed of canvas and goods-boxes. 

To people accustomed to camp-life, as they were, this 
unsubstantial house was not uncomfortable, and the view 
that it commanded was a source of unending delight. 

The windy solitudes of the treeless peninsula, and the 
dreary monotony of the scraggy hillsides, enhanced, by 
contrast, the glorious outlook to the north, where lay the 
lovely bay, with its white-capped waves and ever-chan- 
ging colors; or, to the south, bounded by the graceful 
outlines of the Contra Costa hills, behind which rose the 
grand old sentinel, Mount Diablo, was a source of end- 
less pleasure. 

From their perch they could also look down upon the 
growing town, where the sale of lots had already begun. 
Of the 489 inhabitants, 83 were between the ages of five 
and ten. The adults often had social gatherings, and 
even the question of starting a school was agitated. 

The Fourth and the Seventh of July were celebrated 
with appropriate ceremonies. 

’T ain’t nuthin’ like an ole Mizzoury Fourth, with its 
bran-dance an’ barbycue,” said the Major; ‘‘though it’s 
fair to middlin’, ’speshully that speech of Doctor 
Semple’s. I ain’t heered a better sence the American 
eagle flopped its wings over Henery Clay when he 
stumped it for President.” 


A MAN o’ WAX. 


91 


None of these things were satisfying. 

“ Californy ’s mighty fine for weather, but ole Miz- 
zoury ’s good enough for me,” declared Mrs. Canada with 
a sigh. 

“Yes, an’ for me, too, honey,” added the Major. 

“ Livin’ in a rag shanty up on a windy hill, eaten’ flour 
braid at fifty cents a loaf, an’ only rice an’ beans an’ sech 
po’- white-trash vittles, ain’t keepin’ tavern in Waxhaw; 
now, is it, Melviny?” 

“ I ’m mighty glad that I rented the place to Cousin • 
Joe Moss, stiddier sellin’ it. Sometimes I git to thinkin’ 
bouten them pore niggers, an’ wonder ef Cousin Joe gits 
along with ’em without the cowhide.” 

“He jess better not tech ’em!” said Mrs. Canada, with 
a flash in her eye that boded no good for Cousin Joe. 

“Then thar’s the ole fahm, with the apples gitten’ 
raidy for cider; an’ thar ’s the fat hawgs jess wallerin’ in 
the cawn! My! but I wish I had some sassage an’ 
hominy for sepper! Then thar’s — ” 

“Don’t say another word, Ben Canada,” cried his wife; 
“’cause I jess can’t stand it. Go right down to that 
Ragtown an’ sell this outfit befo’ dahk. If you can’t sell 
it, then give it away to some pore fool of a Missourian 
who has lost his sense and wants to stay heah.” 

“ Do you see that ship in the bay? Fine out when she 
sails, an’ we-all will sail too. I ’d ruther trust ourselves 
to providunce on the oshun, than to Injuns on the land.” 

This settled the matter, and after a safe voyage they 
reached New Orleans, from which point they went via 
the Mississippi to St. Louis, and from there by steamboat 
up the Osage to Waxhaw. 

Their return was a red-letter day in the history of the 
town. As the little stern-wheeler came puffing and 
snorting into sight, the Canadas (including Agnes and 
Uncle Zimri, of course) stood on the hurricane-deck. 


92 


A MAN o’ WAX. 


enthusiastically waving hats and handkerchiefs; and 
when they were recognized by the inhabitants, who 
never failed to gather en masse on the bank of the river 
to welcome the little steamboat, such a shout went up, 
that if ever the “welkin” rang around Waxhaw, it did 
at that moment. 

Then the flag was run up over the court-house, anvils 
were fired, and old Billy, with Trip at his heels, followed 
them, singing, “Hail, Columbia! happy land! I Ve shuk 
the Major by the hand.” 

In due time. Cousin Joe Moss handed over the reins of 
the Canada House. The ancient order of things was 
restored, and the days that came and went were days of 
“peace and pleasantness.” 

Never before had the Major’s wooden settles been so con- 
stantly occupied. He was the hero of the day, all minor 
topics, such as the weather, the crops, religion, and 
politics, paling before the news, that spread like wildfire, 
“Ben Canada’s back from Californy!” From far and 
near they came to hear the voice of one who had seen 
with his own eyes the wonders of this new Eldorado, and 
the Major, nothing loth, repeated again and again the 
story of his adventures, always adding, however, “ Cali- 
forny ’s all right, I reckon, fur as weather goes, but old 
Mizzoury ’s good enough for Ben Canada. Stay right 
whar you air, boys; stay right whar you air ! ” 


A MAN o’ WAX. 


93 


CHAPTER XII. 

“ There, every gentleman professing arms, 

Thinks he is bound in honor to embrace 
The bearing of a challenge for another. 

Without or questioning the cause, or asking 
Least color of a reason.” 

Ben Jonson. 

Although Philip had written home, he had not heard 
from there, and knew nothing of what had transpired 
during his absence. Therefore he was unaware that the 
Canadas had been in California, and that Agnes had 
been so near him. 

He and his chum, Charlie Wild, had continued to 
linger in San Diego during the winter of 1847, although 
the war was practically over and the army had been 
disbanded. 

They scarcely seemed to realize how rapidly time was 
passing in this lotus-land, where each day is so like its 
predecessor, — days of sunshine and ever-blooming roses. 

His infatuation for Ysidora continued unabated. Not 
a day passed that did not find him idling at her side, — 
boating, riding, dancing, yet always near her. 

These attentions were pleasing to the fair senorita, but 
not so to her duena, whose interests were too closely 
connected with those of a certain grandee in Spain to 
allow her approval of such conduct. 

At first she had remonstrated mildly, then, finding 
herself unheeded, tried more vigorous protestations. 

‘‘Again comes the Americano!’’ she cried one day as 
she saw Philip approaching. “ Caramba 1 Senorita I 
It must not be! ” 

“Must not, senora?” replied Ysidora; “surely, you 
forget yourself.” 

“I forget not myself. I am thy mother’s sister, even 


94 


A MAN o' WAX. 


though I am thy duena; and I say again, this must not 
go on, else shall I write to Senor Don Tomaso, and tell 
him alL'^^ 

“A fig for Don Tomaso!’’ laughed Ysidora; “and a 
fig for thee, old raven! Write to him if it will give thee 
pleasure, and I will mary Senor Philip the minute after.” 

“Ah, thou silly moth! thou empty-headed butterfly! 
Marry a wandering gringo, and live like a peasant, when 
there are castles and estates at thy command in fair 
^Spain! No, no, thou couldst not be such a fool.” 

“Then, senora, meddle not with my affairs. Don 
Tomaso and his castles will await my pleasure, and, 
what’s more, my aunt, one word from thee to liim^ and 
thou shalt never see thy beloved Spain again.” 

Having thus settled matters, Ysidora danced away to 
greet her handsome Americano, not dreaming that her 
duena, with fears for her own future comfort, was at the 
moment secretly writing to the Spanish admirer, making 
him fully alive to the fact that a formidable rival was in 
the field, and that unless he brought the influence of his 
presence to bear, his intended bride would be lost to him 
for ever. In fact, she was rather glad of an excuse to 
bring matters to a crisis, since she was weary of America 
and longed for the sunny skies of her native land; and 
having secretly dispatched her missive, she said no more, 
but quietly bided the issue. 

Meantime, Philip, unsuspicious of Don Tomaso’s exist- 
ence, continued to play the rdle of lover, and Charlie 
Wild, to watch him patiently, believing that he would 
by some means be brought to his senses, or that his 
infatuation would wear itself out. But the winter wore 
on, and Wild was forced to confess that his theory was 
untenable, and began to fear that his poor friend was as 
mad as a March hare. 

^ Wild had now grown inexpressibly weary of this lotus- 


A MAN o’ WAX. 


95 


eater’s existence, and as he had not partaken so freely 
as to lose all remembrance of a life more fitted for a 
man, he determined to go elsewhere and take his proper 
place in the world. 

The eternal twanging of guitars with the accompani- 
ment of pattering feet began to jar upon his nerves. 
The bull-baitings, chicken-pullings, and other cruel 
sports, where dumb creatures were taken at a disadvan- 
tage and tortured, revolted him, and even the perpetual 
sunshine and flowers began to pall his senses. 

“See here, Phil,” he said one day; “I have had about 
enough of this kind of a life. It is actually moral and 
mental suicide to continue it longer. In another year I 
shall have no more soul than a clam. Come, now, Phil, 
what say you to a change? Let’s go back East, and be 
men among men, and leave this Sardanapalus busi- 
ness behind us. Now, don’t pull such a long face, 
simply because you think you are in love.” 

“Think!” cried Philip, earnestly; “I know I am, 
Charlie.” 

“My boy,” said Wild, sagely, “love is a disease. I 
have made the subject a study. If it is not, then why 
do people recover from it as from other diseases? It 
should be classed with dipsomania, kleptomania, and 
other diseases of that sort. It requires only a strong 
and persistent effort of will-power on the part of the 
afflicted, and lo! his brain clears and he laughs at the 
follies he committed while under the delusion. You 
have been afflicted so often before, Philip, and have 
recovered, that you surely must know the truth of the 
matter yourself. If you were a roue^ now, it would be 
different; but you are not.” 

“That Jam notP^ exclaimed Philip, heartily. “I re- 
spect all good women for my sweet mother’s sake, as 
well as for their own. Now, really, Charlie, you know 


96 


A MAN WAX. 


that a sweet lady becomingly dressed is the prettiest 
object on earth. I just love them all, as naturally as I 
breathe.” 

“Which is well enough, Phil, in a general way, but 
you know there is one in particular who has a right to 
your especial devotion, and that, sooner or later, you 
must give up Ysidora. Of course you have not asked 
her to marry you,” said Wild. 

“ No, or, at least, not so directly but that she evaded 
me; but I fully intend to do so,” replied Philip, reso- 
lutely. 

“What!” exclaimed Wild, looking his friend full in 
the face; “and that while you are promised to Agnes 
Carew! ” 

“ Now, see here, Charlie; you are in an ancient, 
romantic rut. You take your cue, not from the true 
idea of honor, but from certain novels where the hero or 
heroine rant through twenty chapters over the woe of 
marrying one person while loving another, which they 
do in the end, and the lie comes out, and both lives are 
wrecked. What nonsense! what morbid folly! I think 
too much of sweet Agnes Carew to serve her such a 
scurvy trick, Charlie. I would not wrong her by such a 
lie. In time, she will forget me. If she were here, I 
would tell her the truth.” 

“Well,” said Charlie, “you certainly present the 
question in a new light; so ‘ gang your ain gait,’ as the 
Scotch say ; but the truth of the whole matter lies in a 
nutshell, — Agnes was too easily won; 

“ ‘ For easy things that may be had at will, 

Most sorts of men do set but little store.’ ” 

“ Or in other words,” said Philip, 

‘‘ ‘ An apple that falls from the tree without shaking, 

Is far too mellow for me.’ ” 


A MAN o’ WAX. 


97 


“ Well, old fellow, you certainly cannot complain of 
your Spanish crab-apple on that score; but go now and 
shake again, vigorously this time, and let it be the last. 
If she falls, I will stay with you until the worst is over; 
otherwise, another week must see us ‘ over the hills and 
far away.’ It is no use dallying any longer.” 

Acting on this sensible advice, Philip arrayed himself 
with great care, surveyed the results approvingly in the 
little mirror, and sallied forth, determined to know his 
fate. 

Ysidora, in a hundred subtile ways, had given him to 
understand that she had loved him, yet he had never 
been able to obtain a definite answer from her. She was 
as elusive as a veritable will-o’-the-wisp. 

On this eventful afternoon he found her alone in the 
garden, reclining in a hammock that swung from the 
branches of a huge pepper tree, whose gracefully drooping 
branches laden with long clusters of red berries formed 
a shady arbor around her. She was so deeply absorbed 
in her novel, “ Thaddeus of Warsaw,” that she did not 
know of his presence until he stood beside her and 
softly spoke her name. 

“ How you startled me, Philip,” she said with a win- 
ning smile. I was miles away with the hero adored by 
so many romantic ladies. And, by the way, I am forced 
myself to admire the nerve that enabled Thaddeus to 
resist so many fair damsels, for it was a trial to him. 
Do you remember that whenever an heiress or a countess 
fell hopelessly in love with him and ‘ told her love,’ how 
he would ‘clinch his teeth in agony of spirit,’ or ‘fix 
his eyes upon her with delirious horror,’ or ‘stand aghast, 
not knowing what to reply,’ and so on? Oh, it ’s fine 
reading, Philip, and I almost wish I could have known 
Mr. Sobieski. I would have made love to him, sure, just 
to enjoy the effect upon him”; and Ysidora laughed so 


98 


A MAN o’ WAX. 


merrily at the idea, that the canary-bird overhead began 
his maddest carol. 

Philip seated himself close beside her, and said very 
gravely, ‘‘ Ysidora, do not ridicule an emotion so sacred 
as love, else you will dwarf your soul.” 

She lifted her head saucily, ‘‘Ah, Senor Don Avispa, 
what a ‘ grand gloomy, and peculiar ’ air you can assume 
upon occasion. One might imagine that you yourself 
were the sentimental Thaddeus returned in person. I 
have read somewhere that such things could be.” 

Philip was not daunted by her epithet of Mr. Wasp, — 
she had applied the name to him before, when piqued, — 
but gently took her little hand, on every finger of which 
a jewel gleamed, and said, seriously, “Ysidora, I am 
going away.” 

He tried to catch the expression of her dark eyes, but 
the heavy lashes had veiled them; yet he thought her 
voice trembled a little as she asked, “ Do you go soon? ” 

“That depends upon you, Ysidora,” he replied. “I 
have come to hear my fate from your lips. You know 
that I love you dearly; will you be my wife? ” 

She lifted her eyes, an evasive answer trembling on 
her lips, but the words were never spoken. The color 
receded from her face, leaving it pale as death, and 
Philip sprang forward to catch her in his arms as she 
reeled a little back, thinking her about to faint. 
“ Ysidora, dearest,” he cried, “ are you ill? Have I 
startled you? Do not tremble so, my darling.” 

More along the same line he would have said, no 
doubt, but that a heavy hand on his shoulder caused 
him to turn, as a deep voice, close in his ear, hissed^ 
^^Separese F., senor! Yo dueno de la senorita! Yo sos tengo 
mio derecho!^^ (Stand off, sir! The young lady belongs 
to me. I will maintain my rights.) 

The speaker, evidently a Spaniard, looked very fiercely 


A MAN o’ WAX. 


99 


at his rival from over a pair of big mustachios as he 
took his place beside the girl with a certain air of pro- 
prietorship. 

Philip understood the stranger’s words, and his heart 
almost stood still as his eyes fell on Ysidora, whose 
agitation seemed to confirm them. But he would have 
no misunderstandings, and turning to her, said appeal- 
ingly, Ysidora, what claim has this man upon you? ” 

^^Oh, Philip,” she cried; “forgive me! I am his be- 
trothed wife. I will be your friend, always — your sis- 
ter — ” 

But Philip had fled, with the word sister ringing in his 
ears, as though hurled after him by Nemesis. 

He sprang upon his half-broken broncho, and giving 
the impatient creature rein, away it sped like the wind. 

The rain began to fall, the wind from the ocean to 
grow cold, yet he rode on and on until, at night, when 
he came in, drenched and chilled, the glowing Are and 
steaming punch kept ready for him by his chum were 
long in warming him. 

But as the evening wore on, Charlie’s silent, sympa- 
thetic attentions, in connection with some soothing cigars 
and the genial blaze, touched his heart, and he lightened 
its burden by rehearsing the events of the afternoon. 

“Have you any idea who the Spanish claimant is?” 
asked Charlie. 

“ Not the least in the world. If he had dropped from 
the moon, I could not have been more astonished,” re- 
plied Philip. 

“ Well,” said Wild, philosophically; “it doesn’t mat- 
ter. Whoever he is, he certainly has a prior claim to 
the lady; so there is nothing left for you, Phil, but to do 
as he said, and ‘ stand aside.’ ” 

A knock at their door interrupted them. 

“A visitor at this late hour,” said Charlie. “ A plague 
upon him!” 


LofC.'- 


100 


A MAN o’ WAX. 


“ Ah, Don Senor Ruiz! ’’ and the Don was bowing with 
the ceremonious grace peculiar to his race. 

Both young men instinctively divined his errand, and 
were in no way surprised when he handed Philip a card 
bearing the name of Count Tomaso de Oliva, who de- 
manded satisfaccion. 

“Wants satisfaction, does he?” remarked Wild. It 
seems to me that he ought to be perfectly satisfied; he 
has the girl.” Then, sotto voce, he added, “ After a few 
months with her, he may long for satisfaccion more than 
now.” 

At this, Don Senor de Ruiz grew impatient. “Ah^ 
bah!” he cried. “Dese Americanos know not el duelo! 
You respond not to me. You comprehen’ not.” 

“Begging your pardon, Don Senor, but here is one 
Americano who is more than willing to give your com- 
patriot all the satisfaction he desires. Arrange this 
thing, Charlie,” said Philip, lighting a fresh cigar as he 
left the room. 

There being no alternative. Wild, in accordance with 
his right as second of the challenged party, named time, 
place, and weapons, — “Daybreak, under the two palms, 
and pistols, at twenty paces.” 

The Spanish Don, however, protested against the 
weapons, insisting upon swords, but Wild stood firm, 
and gave the Don his own fine “Colt,” much to the lat- 
ter’s disgust, who eyed it askance, muttering, Pistolas! 
Caramba!” and bowed himself off with as good grace as 
possible. 

Daylight found all parties promptly on the spot. Wild 
was pale and thoughtful. He had spent the night pacing 
the long veranda, his mind filled with forebodings for his 
friend. Philip, on the contrary, seemed in excellent con- 
dition, having slept soundly, despite his wounded heart. 

The long, exhausting ride had been a safety-valve, by 


A MAN WAX. 


101 


which he had thrown off the gloom that would naturally 
follow his disappointment, and the prospect of a duel 
had acted as a healthy stimulant. 

It all had been so sudden. Twenty-four hours before, 
and he had not dreamed of the existence of the man who 
now stood ready to take his life for an unintentional 
injury. 

Philip looked attentively at his rival, and vaguely 
wondered if his death would cause her pain, and Don 
Sehor Tomaso glared back at him so fiercely, that Philip 
could scarcely suppress a smile. 

Pshaw! Charlie,’’ he said; am not going to kill 
that little man; I shall just forfeit my reputation as a ^ 
crack shot, and only take a chip from him, so that he 
may not forget the occasion. I do not want his blue 
blood.” 

^^He is fairly thirsting for yours, though, Philip, and 
will show you no mercy,” replied Wild. “This is no 
joking matter. He forced the fight on you, and you are 
merely acting in self-defense; so, do your duty, and shoot 
true.” 

A few moments and the men stood facing each other, 
pistols in hand. 

“One, two, three, — fire!” 

Philip’s left arm hung limp, broken above the elbow. 

“ A close call that,” said Charlie, as the attending sur- 
geon hastily prepared a temporary sling, “ and satisfac- 
tion enough, I hope, for his outraged feelings.” 

But not so, it appeared. True to his intention, Philip 
had shot away a good-sized chip from his rival’s ear, and 
the little Count was furious. He considered it a per- 
sonal insult. 

“ Better death than ignominious mutilation,” he said, 
and hotly demanded another shot. 

“He can have it,” answered Wild; “but not at the 


102 


A MAN o’ WAX. 


same target. Tell him I ’ll take off his classical nose 
and have it mounted in silver as a bridal present. 
Quick, now, Senor de Ruiz; get him in position and give 
the word! ” 

Hush, Charlie,” said Philip, “ and give me the pistol. 
This is my fight, and I ’ll have no one interfering.” 

Wild protested vigorously, but Philip was resolute, 
and again the rivals were in position. 

Once more the signal was given, and the shots rang 
out upon the morning air. 

God!” cried Wild, springing forward just in time 
to catch his friend, who reeled backward and fell uncon- 
scious in his arms; ^Hhat Spanish villain has murdered 
him. See to him, Doctor, for a moment, and I will have 
revenge! ” 

Be -calm, Mr. Wild, as you value your friend’s life,” 
replied the surgeon, who had been hastily examining the 
wounded man. The wound is serious, but not neces- 
sarily fatal. We must get him to his room as quickly as 
possible; then with careful nursing, his youth and a 
good constitution may pull him through.” 

Contrary to their hopes, however, a fever set in, and 
for many days the weird sister held ready her shears. 
But at last he came back from a world of phantoms to a 
world of realities. His first question was of Ysidora. 
^^Had she sent to inquire? Had she — ” 

“ Hush, Philip,” said his friend, gently. “ Forget that 
girl, for she has been closed out of your life. She sailed 
for Spain with her fierce little Count, two weeks ago. 
My boy, she was simply an instrument of the Almighty 
to show you your true self, and awaken in you a desire 
for a life of nobler purposes. I presume you will worry 
for a while, but that, too, may be a part of God’s purga- 
tive plan, and — ” 

‘^Oh, Charlie, please don’t preach,” said Philip, pa- 
thetically; ‘‘at least, not noti;.” 


A MAN o’ WAX. 


103 


Of course not, Phil; I did n’t mean to,” replied Wild. 

^‘You do not need a preacher, but in a few days you 
will need a judicious cook, if there is any truth in the 
strange tales they tell of appetites that follow fevers. 
Don’t talk, — not a word, — but just lie quiet and listen, 
while I ^a tale unfold.’ We are going away from here 
the moment you are able to get out of that bed. I have 
already secured an outfit from a Mormon immigrant. 
The out-of-door life will do more for you than any doctor 
can; so we will Hhrow physic to the dogs.’ Everything 
in the outfit is complete, even to the thick woolen mat- 
tress that will comfort your bones. Now you know all 
there is to tell; so drink this nice broth, — I made it 
myself, — and go to sleep, and when you wake up you 
will be a new man.” 

As Philip drained the last drop and obediently .closed 
his eyes. Wild lowered the red calico curtain across the 
little grated square that answered for a window, and 
went softly out, muttering, ^‘Of course he will be a new 
man, because, like that sensible fellow in ^ As You Like 
It,’ I, too, ^ will take it upon myself to wash his heart as 
clean and sound as a sheep’s liver, so that there shall not 
be one spot of love upon it.’” 


104 


A MAN o’ WAX. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

“ But now they are over, over, 

The madness, the folly, the pain ; 

In the calm of my life and its future. 

Your face shall not vex me again.” 

Birch Arnold. 

The trip was like a holiday excursion. Wildes gun 
and rod supplied them with luxuries that a king might 
have envied, while the genial sunshine and the ozone- 
laden breezes made each hour delightful. 

Wild also had managed to obtain from some Mormon 
immigrants two well-worn books with which to wile 
away the time, — one, “ The Adventures of Don Quixote,’’ 
and the other, a volume of poems of “ The-heart-that-has- 
truly-loved-never-forgets” and Go, -deceiver, -go” style. 
They were simply found by chance, yet he smiled to him- 
self as he looked them over. It was one of his theories, 
that in such cases as Philip’s, like would cure like. On 
this homeopathic principle, he read, day after day, with 
unflagging zeal, as they jogged along, the doleful lamen- 
tations, set to rhyme, of blighted affection, until Philip, 
fairly surfeited, would close his eyes and feign sleep. 

Then came Don Quixote, and by the time the last 
chapter was finished, Charlie congratulated himself upon 
his success as a love-doctor. 

Wild was one of those rare men in whom dignity is 
inborn, — a true dignity, of which he himself was uncon- 
scious, but which manifested itself in the calm eye, the 
even, low-toned voice, and the absence of hasty and 
impulsive actions. Such dignity can never be imitated 
or acquired. All that he said or did was accompanied 
by a serious earnestness that raised him above any sus- 
picion of an ulterior motive. Volatile Philip admired 


A MAN o’ WAX. 


105 


greatly these qualities, so antipodal to his own nature, 
and yielded readily when his friend was set in a purpose, 
as was the case in the present instance. 

By the time they reached Monterey, and letters from 
Philip’s father told him that the Canadas and the Carews 
had emigrated to California, and would undoubtedly 
have reached there before the letter, he forgot everything 
else in the thought of finding them. The days since he 
left Waxhaw seemed “to roll themselves together as a 
scroll.” His heart went leaping across them, as in 
imagination he greeted his old friends and his dear little 
sweetheart. Instinctively his hand sought the chain to 
which she had so confidingly attached the tiny charm, 
— but it was gone! 

Wild, noticing the action, and divining the pang of 
remorse that wrung his heart, said, consolingly, “ Let 
bygones be bygones, my boy. What is done cannot be 
undone, you know, and Time remedies all things. If 
Agnes Carew is in California, we will find her. We had 
better go straight to San Francisco, and failing there, we 
can try the upper country towards Sutter’s. I have 
heard that a good many immigrants have lately come in 
there.” 

Acting on this plan, early in January, 1848, they found 
themselves at Sonoma, and in the very midst of the ex- 
citement caused by Marshall’s wonderful discovery. 

Gold ! The magic of the word set their brains awhirl. 
Even stoical Charlie felt his blood bound more quickly 
as he listened to the rumors that flew thick and fast, 
and, under the enchantment, the quest for their Missouri 
friends became a secondary consideration. They hastened 
to Coloma, and, like hundreds of others, began their 
search beneath the hillsides, valleys, and river beds for 
an Aladdin’s cave. 

What a life it was! Never had they dreamed of any- 


106 


A MAN o’ WAX. 


thing like it. To-day, the wealth of Croesus seemed 
within their grasp; to-morrow, it had eluded them. 

Then the wild rushes, often made at night, along trails 
where a misstep meant death! The indescribable delight 
of finding a crevice or a pocket in which lay a hatful of 
shining nuggets! 0, the charm of the free and inde- 
pendent life among men who made their own laws and 
manners! The activity, the animation,. the bustle, seen 
everywhere, which formed so pleasing a contrast to the 
dolce far niente existence so recently led, seemed to infuse 
new blood into their veins. 

The very earth was being turned inside out, so to 
speak, so vigorously was it being attacked by the jovial, 
determined miners, who laughed at the obstacles nature 
had interposed to guard her treasures. 

They defied the blistering sun, or stood all day, waist- 
deep, in ice-cold water, that rushed from the summits of 
the snowy Sierras. Some were panning out nuggets on 
the banks of a stream; some, like sextons, were delving in 
grave-like holes; some with drills were preparing to blast 
huge bowlders, while others with trowels were searching 
under banks and the roots of trees for the precious 
stuff,” the finding of which was the one animating 
thought of all. 

Our two young Missourians followed Fortune with 
varying success at Spanish Bar, at Ford’s Bar, and, later 
on, at Hangtown. 

With only a pan, a rocker, or a long- tom, they often 
averaged from two to eight ounces a day, but this, even 
with an occasional pocket or crevice, was far from satis- 
fying them, since many were reckoning their gains 
by pounds instead of ounces. The spirit of restlessness 
was everywhere rampant, and pay-dirt was often left for 
a rush to newer diggings with richer prospects. 

One day it fell in Philip’s way to do a kindness to a 


A MAN o’ WAX. 


107 


stranger, and on this small pivot their wheel of fortune 
turned. The man was a trapper from the Bear River 
country, and was forming a party of a favored few to 
return with him and explore its canons, for mines of 
fabulous richness were believed to exist there, since the 
Indians from that section always had full purses of gold 
nuggets, which they freely exchanged for the white man’s 
commodities. 

The trapper made no secret of the dangers that might 
await them in this unexplored region, where hostile 
savages were apt to resent their presence; but the moun- 
tains were seamed with gold, — their fortunes lay wait- 
ing for them, beneath some huge bowlder; and with such 
alluring prospects, what cared they for any risks? 

So their donkeys were packed, and with hopeful hearts 
they set out with the bold trapper and his party. Their 
route lay along dangerous trails, that wound up the 
sides and over the summits of precipitous mountains, 
where, in places, their animals had to be lifted or low- 
ered by means of ropes, but, all-undaunted, they kept 
steadily on their way, each day taking them deeper into 
wild fastnesses, where civilized man hitherto had not set 
foot, unless some bold, hardy frontiersman like their 
leader. 

Still, the trip was not without its charms, for, besides 
its novelty, and the excitement of stalking an occasional 
deer, or a brush, now and then, with a grizzly, the 
pleasant spring had clothed the hillsides and valleys 
with gorgeous flowers, and they were safe from the dis- 
comforts of winter storms. 

At last, one afternoon, they entered a rocky gorge 
which nature seemed to have fashioned in her wildest 
mood. Thousands of feet above them rose the precipi- 
tous mountain-sides, shaggy with their growth of pines, 
live-oaks, and chaparral, from among which rose huge 


108 


A MAN o’ WAX. 


bowlders smoothed by ancient glaciers and piled “ like 
Pelion on Ossa.” 

The silence of the mighty solitude was broken only by 
the sighing or moaning of the wind as it swept up the 
canon, and mingled its monotones with the brawling of 
the river, that, foaming with wrath, fought its way over 
masses of black, obstructing rocks, to glide onward with 
glassy smoothness among the shadows, and pour its cool 
waters into the Feather. 

They pitched their camp high up among the cliffs, 
where, by a fortunate chance, they found a cave, which 
afforded them a comfortable shelter, and which, in honor 
of the two Missourians, they called Lop-ear Retreat.” 

Across the front of this classical camp they soon built 
a wall of rock, thus converting it into a stronghold, be- 
hind which they could hold at bay any band of Indians 
that might chance to attack them; at least, they felt sure 
of being able to do so. 

And here it was, in this wild, romantic spot, that our 
two Missourians threw down the gage to Fortune, and 
began in deadly earnest their quest for her hoarded 
treasures. 

And such a quest! No pen can depict the fascinat- 
ing madness of it! Each day bore its own eventful his- 
tory, — a pocket here, a crevice there, in which nature, 
like some savage captain, had stored uncoined treasures, 
was found and emptied. From the beds of mountain 
torrents they gathered nuggets varying in size from 
beans and peas to beauties that ranged from five to ten 
thousand dollars each.^ 

1 Lest this statement should appear an exaggeration, the reader is re- 
ferred to authenticated facts in regard to the wonderful value of many nug- 
gets found in California. For instance, one, in 1860, at Monumental Quartz 
Mines, at the Sierra Buttes, that weighed 133 pounds troy. In 1858, one was 
found by Mr. Strain, a half-mile east of Columbia, in Tuolumne County, on 
a trail, worth over eight thousand five hundred dollars, and another at 
Carson Hill, Calaveras County, worth over forty-three thousand dollars. 
The number could be lengthened indefinitely. 


A MAN o’ WAX. 


109 


What wonder that the summer passed away like a 
golden dream, and ere they realized it the shortened 
days, chilly nights, and even a slight fall of snow, 
warned them that their Eldorado must for the time he 
abandoned. Besides, their provisions were running low, 
and the Indians becoming demonstrative. 

Already, one of their party — a jovial Irish lad — had 
been shot from ambush, and two of their mules stolen. 

Therefore it was decided to go without further delay to 
the settlements for the winter, and return with a stronger 
force in the spring. 

They had already accumulated such quantities of dust 
and nuggets, that its transportation over the rough and 
dangerous trails became a serious question, especially as 
the country was infested by bands of robbers, who at- 
tacked returning miners, robbing and plundering them 
without mercy. 

To guard against these marauders,' our two Mis- 
sourians sewed into their clothing a much gold as they 
could conveniently carry, and secured the rest in the 
lining of the pack-saddle of the little donkey that carried 
the pots, pans, and lighter utensils of their outfit. On 
the other animal they packed their blankets, etc., to- 
gether with the leather saddle-bags, supposed to contain 
their treasure. By this subterfuge it was saved, for on 
the second day out, as they were passing through a nar- 
row defile, a party of horsemen suddenly dashed from 
their place of concealment, and, blocking the way, began 
a furious onslaught. 

They outnumbered the miners two to one, and while 
part of these desperadoes did the fighting, the others 
busied themselves by securing the pack-animals and 
making off with them to their mountain fastnesses. 

Seeing their tactics, as a blind. Wild placed himself 
resolutely in front of the mule that bore his empty sad- 


110 


A MAN o’ WAX. 


dle-bags, and held his two assailants at bay, while 
Philip, who had been walking leisurely in the rear, lead- 
ing his treasure-laden little donkey, left it behind a 
clump of manzanita to crop the bunch-grass growing 
there, and hastened to his friend’s assistance, just in 
time to strike up the arm of Three-fingered Jack, and 
send the ball intended for Charlie’s heart, spinning up- 
ward into the air. 

At the same moment a lariat whizzed by them, closed 
quickly around their mule’s neck, and, an instant later, 
he was galloping away beside his captor, and was soon 
lost to view. 

The attacking party now, of a sudden, ceased firing, 
wheeled their horses, and left the road clear. 

Pursuit was useless; so, having “gathered themselves 
up,” as they expressed it, buried their two murdered 
comrades, and placed the three who were wounded on 
litters, they went forward on their journey, cursing the 
evil luck which lost them their precious gold, and vow- 
ing vengeance on the villains who had robbed them of it. 

Our two Missourians wisely kept the secret of their 
meek little donkey’s pack-saddle; although, later on, 
when they had reached Sutter’s in safety, and had 
transferred their belongings to the little river packet on 
which they had taken passage to San Francisco, Philip 
said with a sigh of relief, “ Thank heaven, we are rid of 
that donkey. Why, do you know, Charlie, that every 
time I looked at the creature, he put on an expression of 
superior wisdom, and winked at me; and whenever he 
brayed, I trembled, lest, like his ancient ancestor, he 
should find human speech, and betray us.” 

At San Francisco they learned, through a mutual ac- 
quaintance, that the Canadas, with Agnes in charge, had 
sailed for the East some months before, and having no 
wish to remain in California longer, they determined to 
follow without delay. 


A MAN o’ WAX. 


Ill 


CHAPTER XV. 

“ Westward the star of empire takes its way.” 

They could scarcely credit the marvelous growth of 
San Francisco during the year of their absence in the 
mines; for the little village of two thousand inhabitants 
now numbered twenty thousand. Everywhere was bustle 
and activity. People of all nationalities, many still 
wearing their native costumes, were hurrying to and fro 
along the muddy thoroughfares, for, owing to the con- 
tinuous rains, the so-called streets were in a deplorable 
condition. 

They found comfortable quarters at the City Hotel, a 
story-and-a-half adobe, on the southeast corner of Ports- 
mouth Square, and waited impatiently enough for the 
arrival of The Oregon, one of the three Pacific Mail steam- 
ships making regular trips between Panama and Astoria. 
At last the signal on Telegraph Hill announced its ar- 
rival, and they lost no time in securing passage and 
transferring their belongings on board. It was Christ- 
mas Eve, and all being ready for their departure the next 
morning, they decided to take a last look at the wonder- 
ful mushroom city, little dreaming that, instead of being 
merely lookers-on in Venice,’’ they were to be the chief 
actors in a scene wherein their lives would hang, so to 
speak, by a hair. 

Briefly stated, the circumstances were as follows. A 
well-known merchant of the city had been assaulted and 
left in a dying condition. Shortly before the attack, two 
men had been seen to enter his store. All evidence 
pointed to them as the assailants. One of these men 
bore a striking resemblance to Philip, and upon the 
strength of this, both he and Wild were arrested. 


112 


A MAN o’ WAX. 


Their life in the mineSj where many an innocent vic- 
tim had met death at the hands of demented mobs, made 
them understand the peril of their position, and that 
their protestations against the outrage offered them 
would be worse than useless. They were hurried to the 
old adobe on the Plaza, which was used as a jail, followed 
by an angry mob, pouring in from every direction and 
clamoring for their blood. 

“Hang them!” “Lynch them!” “No justice in the 
law!” “Judges and juries in with the criminals!” and 
like expressions, were heard on all sides, mingled with 
angry imprecations and bitter oaths. 

The efforts of the police, aided by the Washington 
Guards, at last succeeded in landing them behind the 
closed doors of the jail, while Mayor Geary and the more 
conservative leaders addressed the turbulent crowd, from 
whom they finally obtained a reluctant consent that a 
judge and jury might be appointed, before whom the 
prisoners should be tried without delay, the result being 
final. Meantime, while the committee was at work se- 
curing the “ twelve good men and true,” who could be 
trusted with the interest of the public welfare, our two 
unfortunate Missourians were holding an anxious con- 
sultation with the generous young attorney. Hall McAl- 
lister, who had volunteered to defend them. 

“It is, of course, simply a case of mistakeji identity,” 
said the lawyer, “and, were it not for that howling mob 
outside, in a short time we could find evidence enough to 
have the case dismissed before any intelligent jury. But 
listen! there lies your danger; for Sam Brannan is 
speaking.” 

The noise outside had ceased, and the voice of the big 
Mormon reached them. “Fie upon the laws of such a 
Gomorrah! The people are but the tools of judges and 
juries! The courts have never hung a single man in 


A MAN o’ WAX. 


113 


California, yet robbery and murder are rampant every- 
where. The lawyers are no better than the criminals. 
Peter the Great, when in Paris, said that there were but 
three lawyers in his empire, and that he intended to 
hang two of them as soon as he went back.” 

“Let him speak on,” said Philip; “for it gains us 
time, and we must act. But, by the way, you spoke of 
mistaken identity; for whom do they take us?” 

“They think that you are one J. 0. Payne,” replied Mc- 
Allister, “who is a notorious desperado; and I must say. 
Lieutenant, that the resemblance is remarkable,” not 
knowing how deeply his listener’s vanity was wounded 
by the words. * 4 . 

“ Think of having one’s identity mixed with that of a 
common thief,” said Philip, in tones of deep disgust. 

“ Better think of getting out of this scrape,” said Wild. 
“I suggest that by some means we get ourselves before 
the assaulted man, if he is still alive, and let him state in 
the presence of competent witnesses whether or not he 
has ever seen us before. That, certainly, will simplify 
matters, since we know that he has not.” 

Acting upon this suggestion, and still under a strong 
guard, they quietly left the jail by a private entrance, 
and were taken into the presence of the dying man. 

They entered the room with all the confidence of con- 
scious innocence, and reverently approached the bed on 
which he lay. 

He was still alive and conscious, and the weeping 
friends around him, though loath to disturb his last 
moments, could not refuse the appeal of the men whose 
lives hung upon his words. 

Taking his nerveless hand, the physician bent over 
and softly called his name, but there was no response. 

“ What if they were too late?” This voiceless question 
the prisoners asked each other in one swift glance. 


114 


A MAN o’ WAX. 


Again the physician spoke, and the purple lids were 
lifted. 

^^Try to think,” he said, gently. ‘^You have been 
badly hurt by two men. Look at these two, — have you 
ever seen them before? ” 

A look of terror came into the fast-glazing eyes as the 
dying man fixed them upon Philip. Yes,” he gasped; 
that one — murdered — me. It is Payne ! ” 

This unexpected avowal came like a sudden, deadly 
blow from an unseen hand in the dark. 

Wild bore it calmly, as it was his nature to bear all 
things, but Philip shrank back against the wall for sup- 
port, and for a moment the room grew black and swam 
before him; but by an effort he recovered himself, and in 
earnest tones said, Oh, sir, unsay those words. Before 
God, I never saw you until this moment!” 

It was too late. The man was dead. 

Matters now seemed worse than before, yet the man’s 
last words, “It is Payne! ” left them a loophole of escape. 
They walked back to the jail in silence, through the 
darkness, and waited with anxious hearts for the hour of 
trial, which began at two o’clock, a. m. Even at that hour 
the court-room was crowded to suffocation. 

Philip was the first to be placed in the dock, since, in 
the character of Payne, the evidence against him would 
be unanswerable. 

As he sat there, with bloodthirsty tigers glaring at 
him from hundreds of gleaming eyes, a stranger in a 
strange land, a sense of utter helplessness and loneliness 
overwhelmed him, and he scarcely heard the eloquent 
appeal made by his young attorney in his behalf. 

His mind flew back to old Missouri, — to Waxhaw, to 
the beloved mother and father whom he might never see 
again. Before him rose the crowd of friends whom he 
had once regarded with disdain. Then their gentle. 


A MAN o’ WAX. 


115 


honest faces, so full of kindly feeling for him, so lenient 
with his faults, faded, and in their places were the angry, 
threatening ones around him, joining in the cry of 
“ Now ’s the time! Hang him! Lynch him! Hang the 
lawyer too!” that Sam Brannan, with the mob at his 
heels, was shouting through the half-open door, as he 
tried to fight his way inside. But he was driven back at 
the point of the bayonet, and once more the trial went 
on. 

The prosecution was conducted with great vigor, the at- 
torney vehemently denouncing the lawlessness rife in the 
fair land of California. ^^San Francisco,” he said, ^^is 
the heart of California, and must be purified, must be 
purged of this dangerous element, that makes it a blot on 
the civilized earth. As these criminals have sinned with- 
out law, it would be simple justice should they perish 
without law; and whenever a beam bears the fruit of its 
loathsome burden, let it be a sign and a warning, since it 
is only, a popular expression of honest men’s desire to 
exterminate crime. 

good man has been brutally murdered. No time 
was given him to prepare for his awful fate. His blood 
cries for vengeance!” (A voice, ^^And he shall have 
it!”) “The tears of his widow and his fatherless chil- 
dren demand justice!” 

(Cries of “Justice! justice! Hang the murderers!” 
etc.) 

“Shall these vile wretches go free, to re-enact their 
outrages?” 

(Cries of “No! No! Hang them! String ’em up! ” 

“Yet,” continued the prosecution slowly and with em- 
phasis as he leaned forward and pointed his finger at 
McAllister, — “yet, my friends and fellow-citizens, there 
are men who call themselves lawyers ready to defend 
such wretches! Such a lawyer is father to a thief and a 


116 


A MAN o’ WAX. 


murderer. I cannot understand how any honest man 
can or would attempt to shield such creatures from their 
merited punishment!” 

This tirade failed in its intended effect of arousing 
McAllister’s wrath, but it thoroughly antagonized the 
crowd against him, and when the courtly young lawyer 
arose for the defense, he was received with hisses and 
cries of Down with the accomplice! Hang the lawyer 
too!” etc., but, nothing daunted, he drew himself up to 
his full height and calmly surveyed the angry crowd. 

With a swift, sweeping glance, he brought it within 
the circle of his strong personal magnetism, and when 
all was silent, began his simple, concise argument for the 
defense. 

He cited instances in which, to his own personal 
knowledge, cases of mistaken identity had occurred. He 
admitted the resemblance between the prisoner and the 
notorious Payne, but asked for only a little time in 
which the prisoner could prove his identity, for he was 
in fact Lieutenant Philip Bee, late of the California Bat- 
talion of Mounted Riflemen. 

^‘If in this assemblage,” he continued, ^Hhere is any 
man who served in the battalion, let him speak in behalf 
of the prisoner.” A pause, but no voice replied. If any 
such were present, they evidently were either too indiffer- 
ent to care, or too much afraid to speak, lest their own 
lives should be endangered by interfering in behalf of 
one under the ban of the mob. 

So the case went on; witnesses were examined, who 
swore that, to the best of their belief, the accused was 
none other than Payne. The counsel for the prosecution 
was cheered; the counsel for the defense, insulted and 
hissed, and at last the case rested with the jury. 

Meantime the crowed inside were sullen and threaten- 
ing, the crowd outside, clamorous and vindictive, and 


A MAN o’ WAX. 


117 


only held in check by the constant appeals of the better 
class of citizens, who urged patience and assured them 
of justice. 

It was nearly daylight when the jury returned, and 
the foreman announced the verdict: “The jury has failed 
to agree.” 

At this the mob roared like wild beasts, and above the 
din, cries were heard of “ Give us the names of the trai- 
tors who voted to set the murderer free! Their names! 
Who are they? Hang them! Swing them up! ” Then, 
sudden and clear, like a trumpet-call, rang out the one 
word, “Silence!! ” 

Instantly every tongue was hushed, and every eye was 
turned in the direction whence it came. 

Philip, too, as though awakened from a horrid night- 
mare, looked and saw, not the angel Gabriel, as he 
might have expected from the clarion-like command, but 
a sight far more welcome, for, above the heads of the 
still silent crowd he saw the towering form of his noble- 
hearted friend. Doctor Robert Semple. Then the silver 
tongue of this grand seven-foot-high Kentuckian poured 
forth volumes of righteous wrath, denouncing a condi- 
tion of society which made it possible that an innocent 
man should have to endure such an indignity, and “a 
man, too, who had helped to raise the grand old Bear 
Flag at Sonoma, thus inaugurating in this land of the 
free the high and holy principles of justice which you 
have this day insulted in the grossest manner.” 

“If there is a spark of manhood left in your craven 
breasts,” he thundered, “ hide your deformed heads 
whenever the glorious American eagle spreads her balmy 
wings and — ” 

“Fire! fire! fire!” 

The startling cry rang out on the night, or rather on 
the early morning air. 


118 


A MAN o’ WAX. 


Fire! fire! fire!” 

The Doctor’s denunciation and the prisoner were alike 
forgotten. Men were almost trampled to death in their 
efforts to escape from the building, believing it to be on 
fire, and, once in the open air, joined the rush towards 
the raging flames, which, fanned by a strong sea wind, 
were almost beyond control. 

This was the first great San Francisco fire. It de- 
stroyed more than a million dollars of her rag palaces 
and the goods they sheltered. 

Thus, by the merest chance, the scales of Fate were 
turned, and Philip found himself a free man once 
more. 

The next day, the two friends were far out upon the 
ocean, homeward-bound. As they stood on deck and 
watched the sun dip down into the under world, Philip 
quoted softly, ‘‘^Unless a man be born again.’ Do 
you know, Charlie, that I now understand those beautiful 
words for the first time? It seems as though I had cast 
aside my old self as one does a worn-out garment he has 
outgrown. Charlie, as I stood in that dock yesterday 
and listened to those human tigers howling for my blood, 
there seemed to unroll before me a panorama on which 
every act of my selfish, purposeless life was depicted, and 
I marveled how I had ever been able to win and hold 
the love and confidence of others. But henceforth I 
shall be worthy of it, for now^ Charlie, I shall be more 
like you; now I understand you; now I know what God’s 
thought was when he manifested it in man.” 


A MAN o’ WAX. 


119 


CHAPTER XVI. 

**** **** 


Whatever changes Time brought elsewhere, he left 
Waxhaw untouched. 

Again it is Saturday afternoon, and the stage-coach is, 
as usual, awaited by the expectant crowd. 

“ And what does the goose-bone say now. Uncle Jack? 
Any mo’ stawms for March?” inquired Billy Wigs from 
his seat on an empty goods-box, with Trip curled up, 
asleep, at his feet. 

‘‘No, Billy,” replied the weather prophet; “she’s cum 
in like a lion, an’ I reckon she’ll go out like a lam’. 
Hello! D’ye heah that? What’s Bob Bibb a-givin’ 
that hawn a extry toot for? The stage ain’t even in 
sight on the big road”; and Uncle Jack shaded his eyes 
with his hand as he looked in that direction. “ Tra-la- 
la-ra-la! Tra-la-a-a-a-ah! ” came the mellow notes on 
the clear, cool air. 

Others, too, heard the horn, and wondering what stir- 
ring event it meant to herald, betook themselves to the 
post-office. Major Ben and Uncle Zimri both being 
among the number. 

Therefore it was, that when the coach dashed up, and 
the four steaming grays were reined in, as Philip sprang 
out he almost fell into a half-dozen pairs of outstretched 
arms belonging to old friends, who had recognized him 
through the little window. 

Never had Waxhaw enjoyed a greater surprise. 
“Home again! home at last! Thank God! thank God!” 
was the unspoken anthem that rose from his heart of 
hearts, and mingled with his cheerful greetings. 


120 


A MAN o’ WAX. 


Even old Billy Wigs seemed near and dear. The 
grasp of his blotched, unsteady hand, and the sound of 
his shaky voice muttering, “Gimme a shake. What’ll 
you take?” were no longer disgusting. 

Uncle Zimri had no sooner caught sight of Philip than 
he hastened home with the news. 

“Hooray! hooray!” he cried, waving his brimless felt, 
as he caught sight of his mistress and her niece, who 
were sitting on the broad veranda. “Hooray for Wax- 
haw! Hooray for ole Mizzoury! Hooray for everybawdy! 
Hooray for Mars Phil! He’s done come home!” 

Cousin Melvina paused in the midst of “setting” a 
heel in the sock she was knitting, and Agnes closed “ The 
Life of John Calvin,” from which she had been reading 
aloud. 

“What ails you, Zim? Air you plum crazy?” asked 
his mistress. 

“Yes’m; I most shorely is; jess as crazy as er June 
bug, lak de res’ ob de town. ’T ain’t ebbery day dat 
Mars Phil gits bahk f’m Californy.” 

“Phil Bee home again!” exclaimed Cousin Melvina, 
who had lost Zim’s last hooray. 

“ Dat ’s what de hawn was bio win’ for, ole Miss. Dee 
jess fairly eatin’ him up, an’ I reckon his maw won’t git 
a chance at him till mawnin’!” 

“His mother, — yes; we must think of her,” said Ag- 
nes. “She is not strong, — you had better go and pre- 
pare her, Uncle Zim. Break the news to her gently, and 
none of your ‘hoorays,’ remember.” 

But the home-coming of their son was no surprise to 
his parents. He had promised to come back in two 
years. He had long been overdue, and was daily ex- 
pected. A fire had been kept in his room all winter, and 
Tom, his own especial “boy,” had put on a stout hickory 
backlog every morning, saying, “ Specks Mars Phil will 


A MAN o’ WAX. 


121 


be mighty cole in dis country, arter libbin’ in Cali- 
forny.” 

So Philip found the place that he had left vacant in 
the ingleside waiting for him to fill, and fill it he did as 
never before, for never before had home meant to him 
what it meant now. 

As the old darky, full of the importance of his errand, 
had shambled off, Mrs. Canada said, ‘‘Well, well! So 
Phil Bee has come home again! Agnes, honey, what air 
you goin’ to do about it?” 

Agnes, divining the full meaning of the question, said, 
somewhat shyly, “ That depends upon Philip, cousin.” 

“ There! That ’s jess like you, Aggie. You ’re goin’ to 
forgive him, an’ take him right back into yore haht again. 
I knowed it!” 

“ He has never been out of my heart, dearest,” replied 
Agnes, softly. 

For some moments Mrs. Canada was silent, seemingly 
intent upon the knitting-needle with which she was se- 
curing a stitch that had been dropped. At length, how- 
ever, the heel was under way, and letting her work lie 
idle in her lap, said thoughtfully, “Well, honey, I reckon 
you air right, after all. I don’t keer what yore Cousin 
Ben would do, I couldn’t turn ag’inst him, — no, I jess 
could n’t. It might break my haht, but I could n’t turn 
ag’inst him. He b’longs to me, an’ ef he should ever go 
driftin’, — mind, now, honey, he never did, an’ never will, 
but for argyment sake, if he ever should go driftin’, I ’d 
jess be so good, an’ kind, an’ lovin’ that I’d win him 
back. But I ’d settle with her, though, — yes, honey, I ’d 
settle with her.^^ 

“Perhaps she might suffer also; who knows, dear 
cousin, what those poor, weak creatures feel?” said Ag- 
nes, gently. 

“ That ’s goin’ too fur, honey. There ’s lots of brazen 


122 


A MAN o’ WAX. 


women who fairly throw themselves at men’s heads. 
I’ve got no use for them. A woman has jess got to hold 
herself stiddy, else she ain’t no better than dirt. Men, 
pore things, ain’t expected to, an’ I reckon it warn’t in- 
tended, an’ ef a woman really loves a man, she ’ll forgive 
him anything.” 

“Yes, anything,” assented Agnes; and in those two 
words lies the sequel of this story. 

**^***** 

“Philip,” said Judge Bee, a couple of years later, “the 
election comes off this fall, and you may as well stand 
for the House. If you were not too young, we might try 
for the Senate; but that v/ill come, my son, — that will 
come; and — who knows? — the President’s chair could 
not be filled by a better man.” 

Philip smiled. “ Don’t send me away from home again, 
daddy,” he said, laying his arm affectionately across his 
father’s shoulder; “I only came back yesterday, it seems. 
Let us wait until the capitol is moved to St. Louis, where 
it ought to be, and then we will send a better man than 
your son to represent the interests of Missouri in Con- 
gress.” 

“A better man?” questioned the Judge, incredulously. 

“Yes; for it shall be your grandson, Philip Bee, 
Junior.” 


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California’s Transition Period— S. H. Willey 1 

Doctor Jones* Picnic — S. E. Chapman 

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Forty-Nine — Song — Delia France 

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Percy, or the Four Inseparables— M. Lee 1 

Personal Impressions of Colorado Grand Canyon - - - i 

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Seven Ages of Creation 2 

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Story of the Innumerable Company— David Starr Jordan - - 1 

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OCT 20 1902 








